


Dropped Down into the Unknown

by Q_Drew



Series: Unspeakables, Yes.  Unloveables, No. [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, CW: background child death mentioned, Canon has mostly been respected but twisted when applicable, Department of Mysteries, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Severus Snape Lives, Smut Comes to Those That Wait, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, Unspeakable Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19132687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q_Drew/pseuds/Q_Drew
Summary: After a door mysteriously appears in the third-floor hallway of the Ministry of Magic, Unspeakables Hermione Granger and Severus Snape are begrudgingly paired together to solve the puzzle.  In order to understand why it appeared, they soon find that they first have to solve a high-profile crime committed over two hundred years ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My long-suffering husband has looked this over but I am working without a net (ie. no beta). Any mistakes that remain are mine. 
> 
> Originally rated M for language. Rating adjusted to E to accommodate later chapters where things rapidly went out of my control.
> 
> CW in tags is a detail in later chapters. As child death can be distressing for some readers I wanted to give plenty of warning.
> 
> I welcome comments, kudos, and shrill screaming. I'm mostly friendly and can be found on Tumblr under the same username.
> 
> Expect weekly updates on either Sunday or Monday.

The door had appeared in the Ministry’s third-floor hallway sometime in June; the exact date was a mystery.  When interrogated, several employees just assumed it was the fault of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, and they’d straighten out their mess when they got to it.  It wasn’t until the Minister for Magic had visited the floor, at the beginning of July, mistaking the stubbornly closed door for a washroom, that an official investigation began.  

While the door was indeed conveniently located several feet from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad’s main office, they claimed to not have any record of someone accidentally summoning the door in their database.  The Lead Accidenter had every confidence that none of her employees could have been responsible for such an obvious lapse in unanticipated magical protocol. Several Accidenters then accused the Obliviating Department of meddling with memories, in some sort of conspiratorial third-floor cover-up. Shortly after that, the Muggle-Worthy Excuses Committee Chairman had attempted to play mediator between the two departments but was unable to reach a conflict resolution.  Finally, the Minister volunteered the Head of the Department of Mysteries to solve this mystery immediately or forfeit the department’s annual one time pass to skive off one of the quarterly interdepartmental meetings.

Therefore, Unspeakable Hermione Granger found herself exiting the lift onto the third-floor corridor on a Wednesday afternoon in mid-July.  Upon her desk, down in the Mysteries, laid the little yellow slip from her boss detailing that she was expected to drop her other assignments effective immediately and solve this door mystery.  Hermione would be granted a partner to expedite the process and would be meeting with the Excuses Chairman at precisely one o’clock. There was a hastily written postscript that threatened she would be responsible for training the new department recruits for the next six months if she lost their pass to skip off at the next quarterly.

It wasn’t hard to decipher which door was the new addition to the floor.  It was clumsily marked off with Muggle crime scene tape. Additionally, there was a floating DANGER sign in the middle of the hall that proclaimed it was under her department’s purview.  

Hermione sent a simple Show-Me Spell to the door as she walked down the corridor.  Nothing glowed to indicate a curse so she knelt under the tape, wand drawn, and whispered _Alohomora_.  The door didn’t budge.

She muttered to herself, “Of course it couldn’t be simple.”

Backing up and disentangling herself from the ribbon, which had been charmed to flash CAUTION, she stood in the middle of the hall, her back to the lift.  Hermione rested her hands on her hips as she gave the door a critical look.

Behind her, she heard the soft ding of the lift open.  Her presumed partner's steps echoed around the hall. Suddenly, they stopped.

“Fuck,” growled a rich voice.

Shocked, she turned with hair billowing around her shoulders, recognizing the voice immediately.  “Snape!”

Visibly annoyed, Snape crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Granger.”

 

\---

 

The Excuses Chairman wasn’t prepared for this.  Miller Saunders was the only full-time employee of the Excuses Committee. Truthfully, it wasn’t very difficult to arrange excuses that made sense for Muggles.  Weather balloon? Fireworks? Muggles were predictably gullible. His position was often appointed to those who were waiting for retirement. He probably should have retired a decade ago, let someone else take the role, but it was hard to let go of a job that knowingly required so little effort.

While Miller certainly meant well by offering his mediation services to smooth the feathers between the Obliviators and the Accidenters (After all, they all shared a floor and the Invisibility Task Force wasn’t anywhere to be found.) he didn’t anticipate the problem to be unsolvable.  Miller became slightly regretful that he didn’t just stay in his office when the mysterious door refused to open. He then was prematurely relieved when the Minister referred the problem to the Department of Mysteries, thinking his role was dissolved. Most recently, Miller had become extremely nervous when an interdepartmental memo popped into existence on his desk explaining he was going to update two Unspeakables on the situation.

If he was only nervous before he was downright terrified now.  The pair seated across from his desk were both glowering so darkly that he was sure he was not hallucinating the sparks he was seeing.

“So,” Miller said feebly.

_Merlin’s Beard, the glare that man just gave me could melt stone!_

“So,” he repeated.  Miller flinched involuntarily.

Blessedly, the woman spoke up, “Mister,” she glanced quickly at his name placard at the front of his desk. “Mister Saunders, why don’t you just start at the beginning.”

Refusing to make eye contact with the wizard, _gods he is terrifying_ , Miller shuffled through his memos to clear off his desk calendar. “The door appeared sometime in June.” His finger shook as he traced over a week.  “It - it wasn’t here when I took time off at the beginning of June but - but it had appeared by the time I came back on the - the seventeenth.”

The witch began, “And no one -”

“You took leave the length of a fortnight at the start of the business quarter?” came the biting remark from the wizard.  

Miller blushed and stammered, “Well - I had - I have personal time - it was cleared -  that is -”

The witch turned to her companion and hissed, “For the love of Circe, Snape, can’t you just have a normal interaction with another human being?”

 _Severus Snape!_ Miller began to backtrack through all he knew of the wizard.   _Death Eater, Headmaster, Double Spy… rumored Unspeakable._ So wrapped up he was in his mental filing Miller almost missed Snape’s insult disguised as a reply.

“How is it my fault that everyone is a blithering idiot, Granger?” Snape seethed.

Miller was about to sputter his offense as to being called an idiot when he redirected his attention to the witch’s name.   _Hermione_ _Granger, of course!  Part of the Golden Trio, War Hero, friend of Vice Auror Potter… and obviously, working down in the Mysteries._

“Because not everyone is,” Granger shot back.  “If you weren’t bent on terrifying everyone into submission maybe you’d be able to see that, you git!”

Granger turned back towards him, pointedly ignoring the wizard at her side.  “Please,” she gestured gently. “Continue, Mister Saunders.”

“Yes, uh,” Miller took a steadying breath before rushing out the rest, “As I said, the door appeared sometime in the first half of June.  None of the departments on this floor can narrow down an appearance date any closer than that.”

“And you’ve been playing mediator between the two main departments, correct?”

“Yes, because both departments continue to blame the other for the door. The Squad thinks the Obliviators obliviated.  While the Squad has been accused of not keeping adequate records. There’s been talk of a conspiracy from both sides. I’m at an impasse.”

The other man snorted.

A tight smile slid across the witch’s face.  While Granger was looking at him, Miller knew she was addressing the other man when she asked, “Do we have any more questions?”

The stony-faced wizard stood suddenly, chair screeching against the floor behind him, and strode out of his office in a swirl of black without a backward glance.

Granger stood to do the same. “Thank you for your time, Mister Saunders.”

Miller sighed in relief after she clicked his door closed.   _How does Lachlann deal with these two?  And as partners?_ Miller scribbled a short note to Mysteries Head Lachlann MacGille that he had been introduced to the pair and would send another update soon.  As he flicked the note away he thought: _Surely, this is some kind of joke_.

 

—-

 

 _Surely, this is some kind of joke_ , Hermione thought to herself as she eased herself out of Saunders’ office.

Generally, Department of Mysteries partnerships were very rare. Rather than being recruited outright, Unspeakables themselves were often suggested from other departments who were looking to unload their troubled but talented employees.  Unspeakables rarely worked with others, preferring assignments that required a solo approach. They could be terrifying to work alongside, focusing on their work to the detriment of social graces. And pairing Unspeakables always had the chance of imploding.  Teaming up two hyper-focused, volatile personalities often resulted in successfully closed assignments but also more recorded complaints to the Mysteries Head.

Hermione would admit she was initially intrigued about working with a partner for the first time but out of the entire department why did she have to be assigned to work with Snape? She didn't even know he was in her department until just now. Couldn't she be paired with someone she had actually interacted with like Fox or Gibson, perhaps? MacGille must really think well of her tenacity because Hermione was half-seriously considering resigning herself from the case immediately and happily training new recruits for the next three years to get away from her current predicament.

“Granger!” Snape snapped from down the hall. “Are you done lollygagging or shall I ring for the tea service?”

Her temper flared. _Push it down. Push. It. Down._ Frustrated _,_ Hermione attempted to smooth out her hair but she felt it spring back up as if she hadn’t even tried.  

Shoving down her ire she was determined to bury the hatchet.  At the very least, they would start their partnership with nothing left unsaid.  

As Hermione approached she said, “Look, Professor -”

“I’m not your teacher, girl, and I haven’t been for some time.”

“Of course you aren’t. I just wanted to -”

Snape turned away from the mysterious door to look down at her.  “To what, _Miss_ Granger? Or is it _Madam_ _Weasley_ now? To clear the air? I thought you already did that at the Manor.”

“You caught me off guard there. I didn’t expect you to be alive.”

“Ah, yes. Let me help you with this, then.” Snape stepped closer to her, forcing Hermione to look up at him. “I absolve your sensitive Gryffindor soul of any guilt you may have about leaving me in the shack. It may have missed your understanding but I was _supposed_ to die there.”

“No,” she retorted annoyed.  “I forgave myself for that ten years ago. What I wanted to apologize for -” His scoff momentarily interrupted her. Hermione sighed heavily and continued on, “What I wanted to _apologize_ for was my behavior at the Malfoy’s. I shouldn’t have cornered you.”

“And how did you picture that conversation, exactly?”

“I _thought_ you would take my commendation with a bit more grace,” Hermione ground through her teeth.

“I don’t owe anyone anything anymore and that -  was - the - bloody - point,” Snape grit out.

They were standing so close now, having inched together through their tête-à-tête, that Hermione could feel his breath on her cheek.  His dark fathomless eyes were flashing with anger that matched her own.

Hermione opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say. She wanted to explain that the past was over and done with. It had been so for an entire decade. While she did want to properly apologize, not having been able to seven years ago at the Malfoy soirée, Hermione began to suspect he’d never accept one. Snape had done the things asked of him under the mistaken assumption that he was not to survive. He certainly did not desire any apologies or even the slightest recognition of his deeds.

They both wanted to move on. Hermione wasn’t the swot of a student she used to be. Her edges were harder now, jaded from her past work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and epically failed romance with Ron Weasley.  She genuinely liked what she had been doing in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries the past three years. Hermione started to feel like she was finally coming into her own. But having the past physically loom beside her disguised as Severus Snape was threatening to upend her carefully crafted semi-comfortable life.

Realizing she must have been standing there gaping like a fish Hermione snapped her mouth shut.  Thankfully at that moment, a ministry worker stuck his head out of a doorway.

“Oy!” The pair of them turned. “Are you the Unspeakables?”

Neither said anything. Snape merely raised one eyebrow.

Oblivious, the worker continued, “I hope you haven’t gone down to the Obliviators yet. Don’t believe a word those bastards say.”

Snape took a step back from Hermione before speaking, easing the tension between them slightly.  “Would you like to interview the bastards or shall I?”

Despite herself, she smirked. “You should. They still have me blacklisted.”

Curious, Snape's eyebrow rose again. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered, suddenly feeling her irritation returning. “Perhaps I’d be able to share that particular parcel of history with you over a pint as if we were friends.”  They synchronized an eye roll. “All you need to know is that Zabini and I are not on friendly terms. You’ll surely get more out of him than I would.” She paused, realization dawning on her. “Does he even know that you’re -”

“No.”

“That will prove to be an interesting conversation for you then. Well, with that settled -”

“Is it?” Snape interjected, almost sounding amused.

“With that _settled,”_ Hermione continued, gritting her teeth.  “I’ll interview the Accidental Squad and poke through their records.”  She felt compelled to flee the current discussion, to better avoid her growing unstable emotions regarding Obliviation.  

“Now, Miss Granger -” he began as she walked away.

Hermione turned just as she reached the door to the Squad’s office. “It’s not Miss Granger, Snape. I’m damn near thirty.” Almost like an afterthought, she added, “And it was _never_ Madam Weasley”.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione was scribbling intently on her chart, cross-referencing employee wand cards with the calendar.  The Squad at the Accident Office were a fine lot, she supposed. Just a bit daft. Maybe Snape was right, everyone could very well be blithering idiots. How did no one realize that an extra door had suddenly appeared in the corridor?  

When Hermione had asked Nell Gardner, the Lead Accidenter, what exactly she thought the new door was she was given the cryptic answer of a broom closet.  Laughter from the cubicles had indicated it was a joke, but all it did was grate on Hermione.

“I have an important job, _Ms._ Gardner,” Hermione had said, emphasizing the ‘Ms’ to the point of making it buzz off her tongue.  “And I’d like you to remember this isn’t humorous.”

Admittedly, the Squad wasn’t exactly friendly after that.  However, sometimes ensuring an expedient end of an assignment meant you had to be impersonal. And if she wanted to rid herself of the spectre of Severus Snape, Hermione had to solve this problem quickly.  Would they even be able to survive just one week working side by side? Hermione shuddered at the thought.

As if she was able to materialize Snape just by thought alone she heard his deep baritone in conversation outside her office door.  Bitter, Hermione thought, _How the hell does he know where my office is when I didn’t even know he was part of the bleeding department?_

Then cold realization washed over her as she recognized the other voice.   _Goddammit, it’s Harry!_

Panicked, Hermione suddenly stood, her knees thwacking against her desk.  At her yelp, Harry pushed open her door. “You alright, Hermione?”

Unbelievably shocked, she looked up to see her lifelong friend standing beside the dark form of her _partner_.  Before she had time to analyze exactly what that word meant for her, Hermione was dumbstruck once again by the sight of Harry sticking his hand out to the other man.  And then Snape shook it!

Hermione didn’t realize that time had passed and she was still standing dumbly at her desk until Harry cleared his throat.  He had sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, legs crossed at the knee. While Harry looked serious, Hermione caught just a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.  She glanced behind him to see that he had closed and warded her door.

“You - you - and -” she was incapable of making a proper sentence.  Hermione sat heavily.

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Harry said, holding up a placating hand.  He pulled out the memo she had sent him when she first returned to her office.  The one where she had demanded he tell her how long he had known about Snape being employed in her department.  “I realize I have it coming. But I couldn’t tell you.”

“But -”

“No,” Harry said firmly, his jaw tight.  “I couldn’t tell you. But, yes, I knew. Severus -” Hermione's brain stumbled so rapidly over the verbal use of his given name she had to force herself to focus on the rest. “- has such a complex history with the Voldemort Conflict.  Is it no wonder he kept his survival a secret for the first three years? And then after that he couldn’t go out in public without attracting all sorts of attention.” She cringed, remembering her own gaff at attempting to proclaim her admiration seven years ago. “It’s better now thanks to time. But he also keeps a low profile as Unspeakables are required.”

“You don’t -”

“He has complete autonomy.  He is not kept here like a…” Harry spat out the final word, “ _debt_.”

“But I didn’t -”

Harry cut her off again.  “He was and can be downright nasty. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten. But he single-handedly turned the war into our favor.  I would have died without his interference more times than I’ll ever truly know.” He added softly, “Remember, I gave Al his name.  And I wouldn’t have done that for just anyone.”

They were quiet for a moment.  Hermione’s mind was spinning kilometres in seconds, attempting to connect the man she’d been with today to the one that Harry knew.

“He told me you’re working together on something on the third floor?”

Hermione blinked several times, willing her mind to slow down, before meeting her friend’s eye.  “Yes. But it sounds hideously innocuous.”

Harry stretched his legs before standing.  “Most things in the Ministry seem like that at first glance.”

“I suppose so.”

“Are you still on for dinner on Sunday?”

She gushed,  “Of course! I’ll never miss a Sunday dinner.  You know I love the kids.”

“We do.”  Harry leaned over her desk to peck her cheek.  “So, I’m forgiven?”

“There is nothing to forgive, oh gallant Auror,” she teased.

Harry gave a wave as he left, his wards dissolving behind him.

“Now that you’re done socializing,” her jaw tensed as Snape immediately walked into her office.  “Perhaps we can get to work?”

Hermione didn’t speak right away.  She clenched and uncleaned her fists under her desk.  How exactly did this man manage to get under her skin so easily?  Surely, he was purposefully goading her now. Hermione needed to get more control over her emotions.  For Merlin’s Sake, she had survived overnights with the two Potter boys with more patience. Training the incoming hires was looking more and more like a reward rather than a punishment.

“ _Miss_ Granger,” Snape began, buzzing out the ‘Miss’ as she had done earlier in Gardner’s interview.

Exasperated, she slapped her hands against her desk.  “I am not a child, Snape!”

Wordlessly Hermione slammed shut her office door and placed three different wards over it.  

She cut her best glare at Snape.  The type of expression that made others scatter in fear.  Snape merely returned it with a twerk of his lips, knowing he had been successful in taunting her.

“No, of course not,” Snape drawled deliberately slow.  He arranged himself in the chair that Harry had recently vacated.  “What did the Accidenters say?”

Hermione pressed her lips together before answering.  It was a futile attempt to reign in her irritation but she had to try.  They couldn’t go on antagonizing each other for their entire working relationship, could they?  Clearly, someone had to at least make the effort at being the more civilized partner. While Snape was known for his extraordinary intellect, quick wit, and dripping sarcasm, working well with others he most definitely was not.

“Just as Saunders said, they didn’t have any idea as to when the door had appeared. I am going over their wand cards now.  But, so far there aren’t any discrepancies to point to any of them as being the source.”

Snape rubbed his chin with three fingers.  “It’s a similar story from the Obliviators.”

“And how was your reunion with Zabini?”

“Short.”

Hermione didn’t say anything, expecting Snape to continue.  But he was silent on the matter. Snape picked a piece of lint off his black trousers. She tempered down a suffering sigh.

“Fine.  So, I was going to finish going over my interviews.  And cross-referencing my charts,” she indicated her graphs on her desk. “Tomorrow would be a good day to run some diagnostics on the hallway, do you agree?”

When Snape didn’t respond Hermione looked up to find him staring at her.  She had confidence in her Occlumency shields, so while it was a shock to be under such intense observation, she didn’t feel threatened.  Instead, Hermione took the opportunity to return the study. Snape's dark hair, with just a minimal addition of a few silver strands, still lay flat on either side of his face, just gracing the top of his shoulders.  Her eyes slid down Snape's face to his neck where the wispy scars of the snake bite were just visible over his shirt’s buttoned collar. While he obviously was no longer in his heavy teaching robes, he still seemed to prefer a dark-colored wardrobe.  Snape's clothes also appeared to be tailored, it all fit too well to have been bought off the rack. Suddenly, Hermione felt a bit matronly in her ready-to-wear Muggle clothes. Subconsciously, she attempted to smooth down her hair around her face. Snape's eyes drifted to follow the path of her hands.

Abruptly, he stood and answered, “Yes.”  Hermione had momentarily forgotten that she had even asked him a question.  “Will meeting here tomorrow be convenient?”

“Considering I don’t know where your office is, yes.”

“Splendid,” Snape said in a way that led her to believe it was anything but.

He waved his wand over her door several times before Hermione felt her wards collapse.  Snape didn’t even turn around as he walked out her door. Annoyed, she gave him one more thought for the day, _Show off._

 

\---

 

The next morning Hermione stopped short in the hallway with a jolt.  Light flooded out from under her office door. Her wards had been obviously dismantled.  Loudly, a piece of furniture begrudgingly moaned as it was pushed across the tiled floor.  

 _Ethelred’s Vacant Skull, can it be a conspirator from the third floor? What is really going on up there?_  Hermione came to the conclusion then, that after apprehending the intruder, she was going to march herself to MacGille’s office and plead to be put on trainer duty.  She could live with her decision to throw herself under the Knight Bus. Snape was intelligent enough to solve this mystery on his own but she’d be damned if he forfeited first.

Bracing herself for a messy altercation, Hermione disillusioned herself in front of her door.  After taking a grounding breath, she forced a surge of magic, and blasted open her door. Before the door had the chance to rebound off the wall she threw in the brightest _Lumos_ orb she could muster at a quarter to seven in the morning.  Skittering inside after it, Hermione threw a red sparkling circular stunner around the room’s perimeter.  When the light dimmed several seconds later Hermione didn’t find a stunned intruder draped over her desk as expected.  Instead, directly to her left was a large glowing rectangular shield charm. Biting back a dark chuckle, she quickly traced several runes over the shield.  She brought her wand up to where she judged to be the likely place of the trespasser’s face and waited for the shield to flicker and fade away. She felt the other person attempt to undo her dismantling, but it was futile.  

Then, the shield dropped entirely, fizzling as it protested, and at the other end of her wand stood her partner: shocked, slack-jawed, and wide-eyed.

“ _Fuck_ , Snape!” Hermione snarled as she dropped her disillusionment and wand.  “I could have seriously maimed you, you idiot, what the _fuck_ are you doing in my office?”

Snape's initial shock was gone, having been replaced with a mask of casual indifference.  He sat back against a desk, swept his hair back, and began to adjust the buttons on his cuffs.  “I believe,” his voice was very controlled and tight, “that I could hold my own in a duel against you if it ever came down to it, Granger.  Although I have to ask, is that how you usually enter your office?”

Seething, Hermione hissed, “Yes, when I am anticipating having to stun the stranger who broke into it.”

Snape had moved on to unfasten the buttons at his neck.  “I _thought_ we had arranged to meet here this morning.”

She huffed as she walked to her desk, dropping her bag behind it.  “Most _normal_ people usually wait until the person whose office it is to arrive first before inviting themselves in.”  

She then realized that one of her chairs was missing.  And that there was now a desk pushed against the wall where once was empty space.  “Did you transfigure a desk for yourself out of one of my chairs?”

Snape angled the remaining chair so that he could sit with his back to her.   _How is it already stacked with papers?_

“I required a place for my research,” he said as if that explained everything.   _Exactly how long is he thinking of staying?!_

“Don’t you already have an office?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Yes, but it’s too far.”

“Where _exactly_ is it?”

“Far.”

She pushed up the sleeves of her outer robe before gripping her waist.  “Merlin’s arse, Snape, you can’t just use _my_ office as a -”

“Ah! There you two are!” MacGille cheerfully called from the doorway.  Their boss peered in at the two of them. He smiled brightly, as if oblivious to the looks of either fury or disinterest on his subordinate’s faces.  “I see you’re making space for each other. That is quite good. Send an update on that door by the end of the day. It was very embarrassing for both Blaise and Nell to have it materialize in their hallway and neither know when or how it got there.”  When the pair didn’t respond MacGille just nodded as if they did and ended with a “Ta, for now!” before moving down the hall towards his own office.

Muttering to herself, Hermione didn’t even bother to close her door as she moved her filing cabinets from behind her desk to the wall opposite of Snape's desk.  She glided them into place side by side with a barely audible _clink_. Then, she transfigured a ruler into a plank to lay across the cabinets to create a tablespace.  Finally, Hermione transfigured a spare chair to place in front of her desk out of yesterday’s abandoned coffee mug.  It was cramped quarters but at least she wouldn’t have to put up with Snape constantly behind her fiddling in her files.  

 _Is drawing a line down the middle of the office too childish,_ Hermione thought gracelessly as she finally sat behind her desk.  

“Are you going to continue pursuing your hobby of interior decorating or will we actually be able to do some work today?” Snape asked without looking over at her.

“It would do you a world of good if you stopped talking until I managed to have a cup of coffee,” she grit out.

“You could always partake in that pleasantry _before_ arriving at the office.”

“The _pleasantry_ has worn off, and I _wonder why_ ,” Hermione muttered as she summoned a cup from the service down the hall.  

Mercifully, Snape didn’t speak to her while she had her coffee.  In between sips Hermione held the warm cup against her forehead, willing it to cure the building headache.  With her eyes closed, she could almost forget he had suddenly staked claim to one of her walls. However, Snape's quill scratching harshly against parchment was ruining the illusion.  She needed to get a reign on her temper if she wasn’t going to literally kill him. She could have really injured him earlier if she slung a curse over his shield before his identity was exposed.

He seemed to know exactly when she managed to finish her cup completely before speaking, “Now, are you ready?”

Hermione sighed loudly as she vanished the mug.  “Must your pace be breakneck?”

“Do you wish to be partners into perpetuity if we are unable to solve this timely?”

“Fine.” She stood, the chair screeching against the floor.

“Granger,” Snape said softly as she came around her desk to stand beside him by the door.  “Your shield dismantling was… impressive. Where did you learn that?”

Shocked by the compliment Hermione replied automatically, “I did an entire Curse-Breaking apprenticeship under Bill Weasley.  I became very proficient at disabling spellwork.”

“Ah.”  He hesitated before continuing, “My presence startled you this morning.  That was not my intention.”

Hermione's eye twitched. _And just what was your intention? To frustrate me until I - wait, is this what a typical Slytherin apology looks like?_ She realized then that she may need to revisit several previous conversations with Zabini. What if it turned out she was the git after all?  Gryffindors could really use a course in reading between subtext.  

She blew out a puff of air.  “I suppose I should also apologize for calling you an -”

Snape held up a hand to stop her.  “You have nothing to apologize for.  Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured, “but I can, on the very rare occasion, realize when I am in the wrong.”

Surprised, Hermione took her time in responding. Eventually, she decided to go down the path of further diffusion rather than antagonization when she asked, “Can I at least mark the calendar?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile.  “Only your private diary.”

They shared a look of what she chose to interpret as mutual respect.  Maybe they really could move on from the past, and forge something resembling a comfortable partnership for the duration of the assignment.  Hermione was alarmed at how warm that possibility made her feel.

Snape cleared his throat.  “May I place the wards on the door?” He had taken his wand out but looked at her expectantly, waiting for her permission.

Her instinct was to retort that her wards were fine. However, Snape had proven twice in as many days that he could easily break down her best ones. If Hermione wanted to be in a true partnership she had to acknowledge when his skills were better suited for the task.  She would have to trust him if she wanted to conclude this assignment successfully.

“Yes,” she conceded.  “That will be acceptable.”

 

\---

 

Hermione was sitting cross-legged in front of the mysterious door after lunch.  Floating in front of her was a diagram of the hallway, and her magical schematic of the door.  She was scribbling runes and numbers in a tidy arithmantic grid down the length of her parchment, preferring the feel of a biro rather than a quill.  

Their morning spell-casting along the corridor didn’t reveal anything considerably noteworthy in her opinion.  Under a strong perception spell the door had only glowed a muted yellow, indicating it was a new addition to the environment.  Her more thorough transparent magical diagnostic in front of her, similar to a Muggle x-ray, displayed several layers of capillary-like wards woven over the wood.  It was an interesting pattern and Hermione was looking forward to untangling them. But first, she was focused on narrowing down the date of the door’s appearance.

“He’s a smarmy one, ain’t he?” declared a voice behind her.

“Excuse me?” Hermione sputtered as she turned to look up at a wizard she hadn’t seen before.

He took a bite of his sandwich.  Hermione deciphered that it was egg salad due to the smell.  “Your partner? He was a complete arse to Zabini yesterday.”

Her temper suddenly spiked. She waited a beat before repeating herself sharply, “ _Excuse me?_ ”  Surely, Hermione reassured herself, she wasn’t feeling overprotective of her partner. They’d only been paired for a day, definitely not enough time to have established any sort of relationship. Her ire certainly had to be because he was interrupting her work.

Oblivious to her mood growing darker the man continued, “Boss was happy to see him, said he knew him from school. And your _partner_ ,” he sneered as if the word disgusted him, “just dismissed him as if he was a chav.  Said he was here for work, not a social visit.  Is he always such a git?”

 _Who the_ fuck _do you think you are?_  Livid, Hermione stood.  “We _are_ here for work, if it escaped your notice.”  She gestured to the door behind her. “This door certainly did, didn’t it?”

The Obliviator squared his shoulders, but the intimidation act was ridiculously weak since he was still holding the last quarter of his soggy sandwich. “They don’t teach you how to be normal people down in the Department of Mysteries, do they?”

“Actually, the Mysteries only accepts _exceptional_ wizards.  Which explains why you’re stuck in the Obliviators office, doesn’t?”

Indignant, he snapped, “I will have you know that I scored -”

“Nobody cares about ruddy scores after school.” Hermione's tone grew dangerous as she stepped closer to the Obliviator, “But what they do care about is how you use a _wand_.” She rolled the last word off her tongue, insinuating a double meaning.

The Obliviator’s gaze immediately dropped below her waist and he had the good sense to blush deeply.  He stammered, “What - what are you on about?”

“Perhaps you should ask Zabini about a classmate of his.  A classmate who Obliviated a pair of Muggles. Erased eighteen years of their lives.”

His eyes grew wide.  “You’re having me on, ain’t you?  That type of Memory Altering ain’t possible.  The best we can do is a few months, a year at most.”

Hermione was standing uncomfortably close to him now.  “Just. Ask. And then…” she licked her bottom lip, catching his attention.  “Perhaps next time you’d have the intelligence to not insult me or my partner.  Because next time,” she cocked her head, “will you even remember the next time?”

She knew the threat had sunk in when he backpedalled several steps.  “ _Shit_!  You’re a crazy bitch!”

Her smile was all teeth and malice.  “Well, we’ve already established that we aren’t _normal_ in the Mysteries, haven’t we?”

“Fuck!” The Obliviator dropped the remains of his sandwich as he fled to his office down the hall.

Hermione remained standing in the hallway for several minutes, trying to control her breathing.  She knew she had taken it too far, threatening the Obliviator for his stupidity. But Snape _was_ her partner and she’d be damned if she’d allow some half-wit cretin to smear him in the mud. Of course, the way Hermione had done that also meant she began to dredge up the repressed emotional scars of her decisions from long ago.  She reckoned she would be in a foul mood for the rest of the day.

She transferred her schematic to a spare piece of parchment, and then reached out to her notes willing them to obediently stack themselves on her open hand.  Tormented by her violently growing feelings, Hermione stalked down the hall to the lift, her outer robe whipping behind her. Thankfully, she missed the shaky exhale of Mr. Saunders from his office as she passed.

 

\---

 

To her great displeasure, Hermione was immediately accosted when she stepped off the lift onto her floor.  

“Granger, did you really threaten an Obliviator just now?” MacGille sighed.

“Sir,” she greeted bluntly as she walked by him continuing to her office.  

MacGille fell into step beside her. “Granger, answer the question.”

Her pace didn’t slow but she did cut him a glance. “I was simply,” she rolled her hand dismissively, “educating him about my shared past with his boss.”

“Look.”  They came to a stop in front of her door. “I know you must be under a bit of stress with this assignment but I can’t have you going around threatening other Ministry employees.  What did he do exactly?”

“He may have insulted Snape,” Hermione admitted.

Surprised, he muttered, “Is that all?”

She bristled automatically.  “He’s my _partner_ , or did you already forget?”

“No.”  MacGille shifted his weight and rubbed his hand against his chin.  “Don’t get me wrong. I knew Gryffindors were loyal, but I didn’t expect you to be so quick.”

“And what,” Hermione ground her jaw, “is _that_ supposed to mean?”

He shrugged.  “It means I picked a good pair.”  Hermione wasn’t sure why but this declaration made her flush with both pride and ire simultaneously. MacGille needled his hair with his hand. “Right, so Granger, keep the threats to a minimum, alright? I don’t need an ethics committee coming down here; they’d love nothing more.”

She nodded curtly.  “Fine. Now, if I’m excused?”

Hermione didn’t wait for an answer before opening her door.  She instantly felt the wards fall gently around her, and hum in her ears.  She then realized she wasn’t alone in her office. _Their_ office. _Damn, how much did he hear?_ Hermione slapped her notes on the tablespace above the filing cabinets, ignoring Snape with his feet propped on his desk.  

While she was out Snape had added a cork board above the cabinets and had already pinned several schematic analyses.  

“You’ve been busy,” she said in a way of greeting.

Snape snapped his book closed, keeping his place with one finger.  “ _Obviously_ ,” he drawled.

Hermione nodded briskly before harshly sorting her papers and pinning her ward schematic.  As she sat at her desk with her unfinished arithmantic equations Snape stood to study her contribution.  

For several minutes nothing was said.  

And then, “This schematic is quite advanced, Granger.  Something else from your Curse-Breaking days?”

“Yes,” came the terse reply.  The altercation in the third-floor hall had driven away what little patience Hermione had left for the day.  She did not feel like expanding on her answer.

“You must have really had a run-in, didn’t you?” Snape asked in a low voice.

She looked up to see him watching her.  “Yes.” Hermione's shoulders sagged a little. “And if you don’t mind I just want to focus on work quietly for a while.”  She returned to her work, trying her best to ignore his presence in her space. Hermione could still feel his gaze on her but she refused to acknowledge it.  

Snape didn't return to his desk for several minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

In an act of a small mercy, the next morning was Friday.  While it wasn’t odd for Hermione to work through an occasional Saturday, she had already decided that she was _definitely_ not going to come within a mile of this building tomorrow.  If this annoyed Snape, who seemingly never slept as he was here past the time she left last night, he could snort a Snorkack.  Hermione also wasn’t above digging out her Employee Manual to cite the unpaid overtime clause.

Once again Hermione was surprised to find her office door buzzing upon her arrival. _Andros’ Fucking Patronus_. Growing irritated, she remembered how yesterday’s paranoia almost resulted in her partner’s testicles being hexed off.  Determined to take a less brash approach today she unsheathed her wand from her sleeve, and slowly turned the doorknob.

Her door opened effortlessly.  And at first glance, her office appeared empty.  Hermione tempered down the surging residual paranoia and took a tentative step inside.  

With a prickling sensation, the wards gently ran over her skin, welcoming her.  Their melodic hum faded after several seconds. Hermione felt instantaneous warmth and security.  This was a new sensation for her, she hadn’t ever encountered wards that had this effect on her.  Even her wards at home, while giving her a sense of safety, never _embraced_ her like this.  Was this simply how Snape’s wards worked?  And would Hermione be able to convince Snape to share his secret before they parted ways?

Confirming that she was indeed alone Hermione sighed in relief.  Her shoulders sagged, releasing her nervous tension. The door quietly ticked closed behind her as she slipped her bag onto her desk.

She inspected the mess that was Snape’s desk.  Parchments and books were stacked precariously on top of each other near the wall.  Two drawers were unable to be closed entirely; their contents seemingly stuffed into them at odd random angles.  The only tidy object in view was a quill holder currently encapsulating a dozen black quills of differing lengths.  

The man Hermione used to know held proper storage of instruments and ingredients in the highest regard.  But this man, this new man who she felt she actually knew very little about, appeared to be almost the opposite.  Thinking back to her school days Hermione concluded that perhaps in his private quarters, behind closed doors, and away from meddling students Snape wasn’t as tidy and put together as his teaching persona would lead one to believe.  The dichotomy was probably for the best, really, considering a sloppy Potions class could have easily destroyed the dungeons.

Hermione summoned a cup of coffee from the hallway service before turning to the corkboard.  A memo that wasn’t there when she left last night was pinned in the corner, glowing to attract her attention, that read: DEPT OF PLANNING AT 8AM. _Shit!_ Hermione sputtered out her coffee.  

She slammed the cup down on the table top, hot coffee sloshing over the rim.  Hermione hastily cast a _Tempus_.  Infuriatingly, rather than showing the numerical digits of the time it instead displayed a grandiose grandfather clock face, as if to purposefully mock her.   _Fucking shit!_ She blinked several times as she searched out the wispy ornate clock hands to only find that it read seven-fifty-seven.  

Hermione fled the office, leaving behind her bag and papers.  As she rushed down the hall, she felt the tendrils of Snape’s wards lick at her heels.  Whether it was out of reassurance or mockery, she couldn’t tell.

 

\---

 

Despite throwing out her best annoyingly-Snape-impervious glare to clear the corridors (But nothing physical; MacGille really didn’t need an ethics committee looming over their department.) Hermione wasn’t able to enter the Ministry’s Department of Planning on the first floor until twelve minutes past eight.

The Planning Office had a row of floor to ceiling flat filing cabinets on the far back wall, and several manned desks scattered in the main room.  A tall, room-length counter separated the employees from the shallow lobby. Pointedly, there were no chairs for visitors. You obviously weren’t meant to stay and if you did you were not going to be comfortable.  

Finding Snape was easy, and not only because he was the only one at the far end of the counter. He was essentially a beacon in his black cloak, contrasting sharply against the sterilized white tones that were prevalent throughout the ministry.  Inexplicably, Hermione felt compelled to rush to his side.

As she neared Snape turned towards her, his far elbow and forearm resting on the counter.  “Ah, Granger, you made it.” Hermione was startled that he had said it without a hint of annoyance.  

Her gut reaction was to immediately accuse this man of being an imposter.  But instead quietly said, “I didn’t see your note with enough time.”

“Wow!” came a voice across the counter.  

Hermione hadn't realized Snape had already sought the assistance of a Planning Employee.  She had been so hyper-focused on him upon entering that everything else had apparently faded away.

She squinted at the other witch.  There was a hint of familiarity in her expectant expression. “Do we know each other?”

“Yes!” the other woman squealed.  “Well, no, not really I guess.  Oh!” She stuck out her hand. “Elsa Harper.”  Hermione tentatively gave it a shake. “I was a first year Gryffindor your last year… well, I mean the year you returned to sit your NEWTs.  You were fantastic! I mean, you sat for seven of them!” Elsa grinned and gestured wildly as she held up seven fingers. “Six Outstandings and only one Exceeds Expectations!  It was some kind of record wasn’t?”

_Oh, sweet Circe, I accepted the post in the Mysteries partly to avoid hero worship like this._

“I’m sure it was, Ms. Harper,” the wizard beside her said earnestly.

Hermione looked askance at him. Purely for theoretical reasons, she began to visualize a location between this office and theirs that she could _Confundo_ the possible interloper when Elsa continued:

“I’m sorry, Ms. Granger.  It’s just that you’re sort of a living legend, aren’t you?  All the girls in the dormitory thought you were so pretty.” Elsa leaned a little over the counter to whisper conspiratorially.  “And it was so bloody validating to see a girl be both wicked smart and beautiful.”

Hermione sputtered, “I - I am - what?”

Elsa looked up to the clock above their heads.  “Oh, bugger! I completely talked your ears off for the last twenty minutes and you had an eight o’ clock appointment!”  She suddenly crouched below the counter out of view.

Skeptical of this entire venture, Hermione turned to Snape.  However, her suspicions soon were replaced with mild irritation at the sight of a small smirk.  Hermione realized then that Snape was relishing greatly in her discomfort. She shouldn’t be surprised, he probably had used the first twelve minutes to set the plot in just the way that would goad her.  Mischievously, Snape flicked an eyebrow at her.

However, before Hermione could properly interpret the gesture’s full meaning, Elsa popped back up above the counter with a stack of papers.  “Right, so Mr. Snape, which blueprints were you hoping to view?”

“All the records of the third floor.”

Elsa dramatically semi-collapsed as she breathed out, “Oh good!  I was slightly worried you’d want the plans to the atrium. That has been through so many alterations that you’d really have a lot to wade through.”  She flicked through several sheets of paper before pulling out a form applicable to their request.

“Since this is a Department of Mysteries request you just have to fill in section D through G and then sign at the bottom.  Ms. Granger can sign as a witness.”

Snape patted his chest several times.  “Ms. Harper, I seem to have misplaced my quill.  Would you have one that I could borrow, _dear_?”  He exhaled the term of endearment lowly, placing his voice into the next register.

Elsa immediately went pink.  “Yes, yes I think I can find one.”

After Elsa ducked under the counter again, Hermione turned to Snape and mouthed, “Dear?”

Snape smirked in response, and rose a finger gesturing ‘wait’.

After Elsa reappeared and he filled in a few sections he said, “Oh my, Elsa - oh, I do _apologize,_ ” he placed a hand on Elsa’s forearm seeking forgiveness. “Ms. Harper -”

“Oh, that’s quite alright Mr. Snape.” Elsa was a bit too doe-eyed for Hermione’s liking.  In fact, this entire exchange was a bit too out of character for her liking. Why was Snape acting so odd?  This wasn’t how he actually flirted, was it? He couldn’t actually be _interested_ in this _girl_ , could he?  The thought caused a jolt of slimy jealousy to slither across Hermione's chest and rest in her belly.  This aggravated her greatly.

“It says here in section G that we won’t be able to take the blueprints out of the office.  Do you think,” Snape leaned in a little across the counter, creating the illusion of a more intimate conversation, “that we could have an exception made to view them in a private area?”

“Oh, well that’s not really -”

“We’d just feel more comfortable discussing Mystery business out of the way from the general population.  I’m sure you understand, _Elsa_.”  He somehow wrung out Elsa into several more syllables than it actually was.

Obviously sickeningly besotted, Elsa answered breathlessly, “I might be able to procure a conference room for you.”  Hermione had to stifle a gag. _Ogden’s Pox, she has to be barely twenty!_

“Wonderful.  And we are thankful, aren’t we?” Snape slid the form to Hermione for her to sign under the witness space.

“Yes,” Hermione answered very slowly, drawing out the word for several beats.

“Let me just get the blueprints for you from the back and I’ll show you to a room.”  Elsa practically flounced to the filing cabinets.

When Hermione was certain Elsa was out of earshot she spun to face Snape and ground out, “What - the - _fuck_ \- is - going - on, Snape?”

Leaning on the counter on his far elbow again he flicked his other wrist casually. “You’re witness to an exercise in playing on Gryffindor sensibilities in a predictable manner in a way that benefits us.”

“It’s becoming something unsavory.”

“Ah, don’t concern yourself,” Snape said dismissively.  “I have had a few decades to perfect this.”

“But aren’t you worried about your -”

“My _what_?  Reputation?”  He rolled his eyes.  “I probably sunk that for good when I threw a previous employer off a tower, don’t you agree?”

Before Hermione could respond, Elsa returned with several reams of paper floating behind her.  “I have all the plans for the third floor. I can show you to our conference room if you’d follow me.”

The pair fell behind Elsa as they crossed the office and down a small hallway. Hermione could have been mistaken but it really appeared as if Elsa was _sauntering_.  

Snape leaned over Hermione’s shoulder and whispered, “You were very taken aback.”

She turned slightly to find that he was hovering so close that if she turned much more she could kiss his cheek.  The ridiculous thought immediately caused her to blush.

“I did not intend to leave you in the dark.”

“No, no that is alright,” Hermione stammered, thankful that he may have misinterpreted the reason for her embarrassment.

Snape hummed lowly, the sound reverberating down her neck.  When Elsa opened the door for them Hermione thought she might have felt his hand on her lower back for the fleeting few seconds as she entered.  But it was so quick that she could have very well imagined it.

“This is lovely, thank you, Elsa.”  Snape positioned his body to edge the young witch out of the room.  “You wouldn’t mind if we set our own wards, would you?”

Elsa fidgeted with her hands at the other side of the threshold.  “Oh, well, I guess not -”

“Good.” He shut the door and warded it immediately.

 

\---

 

The pair were standing side by side as they began to flip through the blueprints.  At a quick glance, there seemed to be only about thirty altogether. Roughly one every decade or so, usually coinciding with a new department head.  But most of the changes appeared minuscule: an addition of a water fountain, another closet, a bit of a give and take between the sizes of the two main offices as one department bloomed in importance over the other. The origin of the door, however, didn’t appear to be as obvious.

It surprised Hermione to see that the current blueprint of the corridor obligingly displayed the door.  However, the beginning of the date was smudged. They were only able to make out that the month was June, as suspected.  Hermione, though, did not find herself envious of Arthur Chambers, Planning Inspector, who was sure to get a dose of her partner’s wrath.

“Do you think that Chambers even noticed there was a new door on these plans?”

“Doubtful,” came the terse reply. “The Ministry doesn’t exactly employ the brightest in the offices.”

In short order Hermione found herself hypnotized watching Snape’s long fingers skimming the prints; stopping at the space between the Excuses Chairman’s small office and the Accidenter’s larger space.  Over and over, print by print, the space where the door should have been was empty. The discard pile was quickly becoming thicker. Snape grunted in frustration and stepped away from the table.

Hermione slid over and resumed the review.  They were now in the early 1800s with only a few sheets left.  A small inkling of panic began to sprout, following the same path as that infuriating jolt of obscene jealousy from earlier.  What if this inquiry was a dead-end? What if the door had really just appeared only once?  

1827, no door.  1818, no door. It was all the same: 1803, 1794, 1783, 1781…

“Wait,” Hermione muttered.  “There seems to be two sheets for 1781.”

“A copy?” Snape leaned over.

“That doesn’t make sense.  Why would there be a copy of only one print?”

They laid out both prints side by side.  Both looked identical, even signed by the same Planning Inspector.  But neither had the mysterious door present.

They glanced at each other, and then on an unspoken cue they simultaneously cast _Revelio_ on the prints.  Snape did so nonverbally with a swipe of his hand, while Hermione spoke the incantation and used her wand.

Both maps glowed for a brief moment.  As the glow slowly dissipated it became obvious that there were two features left glimmering, indicating deception, on only one print.  In the upper right corner it was the date of 3/6/1781. And centered between what used to be a coat closet and the office space of the Axxi Charm Rev'rsal Regiment glowed a thin rectangle indicating a door.

The pair was silent as they stared at the print that displayed the mysterious door.

“What’s the date on the other sheet?” Hermione finally asked.

“June fourth, 1781.”

She flipped over the remaining five plans. They did not appear tampered with and were devoid of an extra door.

“Is this really indicating that the door initially appeared for the length of only one day two hundred and twenty seven years ago?  What is so special about this date?”

Her mind was twirling rapidly, attempting to filter through the back catalogue of her History of Magic knowledge.  

“Crowdy,” Snape exhaled.

“What?” They turned to face each other.

“Not a _what_ ,” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “A _who_.  Crowdy was a Minister for Magic.  He died mysteriously in office.”

Hermione's mind caught up and skidded to a halt. “Let me guess. He died on the third of June in 1781.”

 _Shit_ , _there really_ is _a_ _third-floor cover-up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note of clarity for American readers, the date of 3/6/1781 as listed above is correct for the UK. It would be written as 6/3/1781 in the US.


	4. Chapter 4

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

Hermione was in the lift waiting for the next stop to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  In the meantime, Snape was on his way to Shacklebolt’s Office to request permission to peruse the Minister’s personal library.  The hope was that back-channel research had already been conducted about Minister Maximilian Crowdy’s death to save them time. 

Hermione’s brain continued the chorus of looping _fucks_ the entire way to Auror Headquarters.  As it always did, the main room of Auror HQ reminded her of what she imagined a social club to be.  The atmosphere was jovial, loud, and buzzing. Abandoned takeaway containers were scattered over several desks.  At rest, the group of them were incredibly easy to underestimate. Especially as they competed, like they were now, over who could throw a paper airplane the furthest.  Hermione knew better. But for Merlin’s sake couldn’t someone at least move the empty containers to the trash like a normally functioning human being?

She grimaced as she peeked inside a greasy bag at the intake desk.  

A low whistle floated up from somewhere in the bullpen. “Whoo-wee!” 

Hermione’s gaze slid slowly to a fresh-faced recruit, an obvious new addition to the department.

The squad went deathly quiet and the color drained out of several of the agents’ faces.  Someone from across the way attempted to stop the idiot’s banter but the boy was heady from being surrounded by peers.

He continued, “Aren’t you a totty?”  His swagger across the room was revolting.

As The Rookie got closer, her tight smile ever so slowly became feral.  One of the officers, sensing doom, jogged out of the room in the direction of Harry’s office.

“Oh - uh -” The Rookie visibly began to lose his nerve.

Behind The Rookie, the other officer returned panicked.  The others in the room exchanged quick looks of uncertainty.  Two Aurors from the opposite side of the room dashed into the hall behind them that led to the conference rooms.  The five squadmates who remained eyed Hermione wearily, fidgeting with their wand hands.

The Rookie’s face paled.  He didn’t understand what was happening.  Just moments before he was thinking he was going to do some flirtatious banter and perhaps score a lunch date.  But now he was being stared down by an absolute banshee.  

“Did we lose some bottle?” Hermione mocked.  “Did you think that as a _powerful_ Auror, you’d be able to throw some veiled compliment at me and I’d let you into my bed?”

The two officers who had run down the hall came skittering back into the room.  Shocked, they gestured wildly behind them.  

The Rookie spat, “You’re a bit of a battleaxe, aren’t you?” 

Another officer rolled his eyes at his squadmates, cast a variant of _Point Me_ , and then sprinted past the pair at the front desk and out of the office.

Several officers behind the Rookie rubbed their foreheads in embarrassment.  The closest one to the pair attempted to intervene, but The Rookie waved him off.  

“I love women, I really do.  But I’m starting to have second thoughts about you, sweetheart.  You better play nice if you want me to give you a chance.”

“You wanker,” Hermione snapped.  “I wonder what your boss would think about your behavior if I were to tell him.  Probably nothing good, I wager.” 

It became glaringly obvious that The Rookie was incredibly ignorant about how small the world actually could be.  Because, certainly, if he recognized her, she didn’t think he’d have said, “Oh yeah? And who the fuck do you think you are?”

Hermione responded deliberately slow, “Oh, I’ll show you who I am.” 

A flurry of things then happened simultaneously: She flicked her wand in front of The Rookie’s nose; two of the closest officers cast _Protegos_ to shield themselves; she felt the door _whoosh_ open behind her; and she finished casting her credentials. 

Calm, and turning only slightly, she greeted,  “Hello, Harry.” Harry’s wide eyes slid off her face to her enlarged transparent Level 5 Unspeakable Badge floating between her and the stock-still recruit.

“Is - is,” winded, Harry gasped.  “Is there a problem, Hermione?”

“Things are _fine_ ,” Hermione’s tone, however, indicated that things were definitely _not_ fine.  “I was simply showing your new officer my credentials.”

Harry thumbed his nose, their shared gesture of understanding.  “Right.” He straightened his back and applied pressure to the oblique muscle he always strained when he ran too hard.  “Will you please wait for me in my office?”

She nodded and whisked away her employee information.  Hermione didn’t bother to give The Rookie a backwards glance as she weaved around the desks to Harry’s office.

In a mixture of shame and satisfaction, Hermione sat heavily in one of the chairs in his office.  There had been several times, almost daily, that she had wanted to stick up for herself like that when she was first hired in the Creatures Department.  She shuddered, remembering slick hands and nasty words being lobbied at her simply because she was intelligent, confident, and a woman. Hermione had been just a new baby-faced hire; no matter her Order of Merlin, First Class or what she had to endure to get it.  She had heard the whispers… that her intellect was overexaggerated, that she was simply a girl who knew nothing, that she had fucked her way into the department.  

Hermione’s anxiety manifested itself into a spinning fuzzy knot in her chest for the quarter of an hour before Harry entered.

He leaned back against the front of his desk, crossing his legs at the ankle.  His jaw was tight. “Sorry about Kaplan.”

She looked up to him and sighed, “I should have handled the situation better.”

Harry barked out a laugh.  “According to half a dozen witness statements you handled it perfectly.  Admittedly,” he shrugged, “maybe a bit more frightening than the squad is used to.” 

“I’m an Unspeakable though, Harry.  I should have had better control of myself.”  Hermione rolled her head, releasing tension. “Gods, I enjoyed it though.  Putting him in his place. It felt like I was finally receiving compensation for the abuse from when I was a fresh hire.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a minute.  She knew he still carried the guilt about not being able to intervene on her behalf.  He had been just a child too. They all were. Expected to be an adult, to contribute, to somehow go beyond the highest achievement of destroying an evil wizard and saving their world.  But then at the same time to be admonished for speaking out, being too loud, being too smart, being anything more than a silent public face that could be paraded around functions.

“Do you think it’s any better now?” Harry asked quietly.

“Maybe,” Hermione answered.  “As the previous generation retires or dies, their outdated ways of keeping the status quo also leave with them.  Then our lot moves into the positions of more influence, finally forcing change.” She sighed. “It’s a fucking slow process though.  Bureaucracy is codswallop. I hate it, I really do. I needed to get away from it in the Mysteries; to regain some of my autonomy before I burned the whole bloody place down.”

“Yeah, it is bullshit,” Harry echoed her sigh.  “I want to fire Kaplan. But it’s his first week at the Ministry -” Hermione cringed - “so it’s not my call.  We’re just his first rotation as part of his probation period. But, unless he saves the Minister from death, we won’t be requesting him back.”

“Merlin, what a mess.  Now I almost feel bad.”  She dropped her head in her hands.  

Harry placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  “None of that now, I won’t have it.”

She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.  “Thanks, Harry.”

“Honestly, I’d rather find out that he’s a total prick now, with you, rather than him trying that shit with a civilian.  And that is only because you can take care of yourself and are terrifying as hell.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and exhaled a half-hearted chuckle.

“Now,” he leaned back and crossed his arms.  “Why did you originally come here? Something about your current assignment?”

She nodded.  “How far back do the Aurors keep records of their cases?”

“Files aren’t ever destroyed.”  Harry gestured vaguely towards the front of the office.  “We keep active cases in the cabinets in the main room.  Once a case is solved it’s filed in the Records Room for a year.  After that, the likelihood of it needing reviewed is much lower so the files get moved down to Central Bookkeeping.”

“I need a very old file.”

Harry arched back over his desk.  He shuffled around some papers to find the correct acquisition form.  “I’ll put in a request for you. Attaching my name may be able to expedite it.  And it’ll save you a trip. How old is old?” He began to fill in the form on his knee.

“Two hundred and twenty-seven years.”

He paused.  “That is… _impressively_ old.”

“I know.  I actually need a file from the third of June 1781.  It’s about -” Hermione’s tongue suddenly felt heavy and refused to cooperate.  “Dammit.”

Harry hummed without looking up. “Hmm, sharing too many details now.  Not a very good Unspeakable.” He tsked. “How about I just ask for every file originating from this date?  That way it’s covered no matter the details?”

“That would be brilliant.”  Truly relaxed for the first time all morning, Hermione allowed her head to fall back against the chair’s headrest.  

“1781, hmm?  I think I have an idea as to whom this refers to.”  After a moment, he showed her that he wrote ‘Minister Crowdy’ in box H.  Hermione thumbed her nose. “This explains why your partner was waiting for the Minister this morning.”

Involuntarily, Hermione suddenly felt warm at the mention of her partner.  Deliberately choosing to deflect away from and ignore it she asked, “Oh, is that where you were?  Your officers had a difficult time finding you.”

Harry chuckled. “Yes, I had a meeting with Kingsley first thing.”

She cut him a glance, an edge to her voice, “A good one, I hope.”

“Don’t worry about me, Hermione,” he waved his hand dismissively.  “I’m made of tough stuff. I was once a horcrux, you know.”  

Hermione snorted at his overused horcrux line. It never failed to annoy his eldest son to be asked “yes, but were you ever a horcrux?” whilst complaining about some minor injustice. 

Harry signed his name at the bottom with a flourish.  “Finished. It’s too early for lunch but may I escort you to your next destination?”

“I would like that very much,” she said as she took his arm.

On the way out, Hermione noticed that the takeaway containers had all been stacked in the corner trash.

 

\---

 

A book dropped with a loud thud near her head.  Startled, she jerked awake. While Hermione could make out Snape’s dark form she was convinced her eyes must be blurry with sleep.  Because she almost thought he looked embarrassed, caught out somehow. Which didn’t make much sense. Hermione had been the one who had been sleeping.  She blinked several times in an effort to focus better.

Snape’s voice came out harsh and quick, “Do you always nap on the clock?” 

Rough with sleep Hermione replied, “It has been a very trying end of the week, Snape.”

Softer, he murmured, “You can’t work yourself into oblivion, Granger.”

She attempted - unsuccessfully - to smooth down her hair and rubbed her face furiously.  “Noted,” she snarled.

Snape sat in his chair facing her and propped his legs up on the nearest corner of his desk.

“Remind me,” he drawled.  “What date did your equations say was the highest probability of the door appearing?”

Hermione sighed as she rubbed her forehead.  “I believe I was only able to narrow it down to a few days.”  

She held out her hand and the papers from the top of the filing cabinets obediently fluttered to her.  Hermione flipped through them, bleary eyed. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she became aware of a steaming full cup of coffee materializing at her elbow.

Hermione felt her face flush at this kindness.  “Thanks,” her voice drifted softly across the room.

Snape gave a curt nod causing his hair to fall around his face, briefly obscuring his features before he swept it back.

Hermione took a sip and sighed.  It was just how she liked. How could Snape possibly know that after just being in her company for half a week?  It had taken Ron months before he finally realized she took it with milk not cream.

With her free hand, Hermione ran a finger down the equations.  “I calculated that the door appeared sometime... during the three day period of... June second to the fourth.”  She couldn’t stop a smug smile from creeping over her face. “Oh, I am good,” she purred. 

Snape chuckled, the sound rumbling around the room.  “And like most Gryffindors not very humble.”

“No, I am wickedly shameless regarding areas I excel in and most definitely when behind closed doors, Snape.”

He became very still, and a peculiar expression briefly flashed across his face.  Recalling what she had just said Hermione’s brain completely short-circuited. Did she just tell him that she was _wickedly_ _shameless_ \- _behind_ \- _closed_ \- _doors_?  Possibly indicating that she was… 

In it’s best effort to cover her gaffe her mind forced her to pick up the book he had left on her desk and blurt out, “Is this a book?”

Her face went red and Hermione fervently wished to vanish from this office, burn it all down on the way out, and adopt a second identity.

Extremely evenly, perhaps the most deadpan she’d ever heard, Snape said, “Yes. It is a book.”

Her mortification spreading she thrust it at him, and begged, “Tell me about it.”

Snape’s expression was largely unchanged except for a very slow rise of an eyebrow.  He silently summoned the book out of her hands.

“It’s a first edition unauthorized biography of Crowdy written shortly after his death.”  Snape fanned the pages with his thumb. “This edition should be the most factual. Unauthorized works have a tendency to fall prey to being filled with inaccuracies the later they are published.”

“You’d have personal experience with that, I suspect.”

Snape sighed loudly. “Skeeter’s book is rubbish.  But books cannot be blamed for their authors alone.  Her _inspiration_ ,” he twisted his mouth into a grimace, “wasn’t very good to begin with.”

Hermione’s voice floated to him, soft and low, “I don’t believe that to be true.” 

Snape twisted in his chair, dropping the book on his desk, looking anywhere but her, and then interlaced his fingers over his stomach.  “How did your inquiries go?”

“Uneventful,” Hermione lied, now taking her turn to avoid eye contact.

He scoffed.  “Granger, I was a House Head, a spy, and still am a Legilimens.  I _know_ when someone is lying.”

She blew out a puff of air.  “Fine. I had a minor disagreement with a new recruit at Harry’s office.”

“The way the sargent had rushed down the hall, it sounded like you had begun to dismember him.”

Hermione waved her hand dismissively.  “Only metaphorically at best.”

Snape’s voice was deeper than usual when he replied, “ _Pity_.”

To her great mortification, the smoldering gaze accompanying his statement sent a bolt of fire straight down past her belly to her core. _Circe!_ Uncomfortable with what Hermione immediately determined was a very inappropriate reaction, she squirmed and changed positions on her chair.  

Chastising her ridiculous traitorous body - _fine_ , Hermione conceded, it has been an abnormally long time since she had been with a man but this was _not_ the man to have an erotic reaction to - she cleared her throat, determined to focus on the work at hand.  

“The visit to the Improper Use of Magic Office was a dead end.  They were absolutely dwarfed by the stacked reports of improper magic by people.  But I was practically laughed out of the room when I asked if they kept a record of buildings performing magic improperly.”

Snape appeared to be blessedly ignorant of the effect he had on her - which was a small mercy, she reasoned, he’d surely demand to dissolve their professional partnership immediately if he knew - and replied, “Buildings generally aren’t sentient.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Hogwarts sometimes felt like it was though. It moved staircases, made doors disappear, and morphed the Come and Go Room into whatever you needed.  Maybe I should write the Headmistress.” Hermione gestured to him.  “Unless you’d want -”

He didn’t allow her to finish, “I can’t go back there.”

She stopped short.  “Oh. Of course.” Hermione quickly wrote herself a reminder on the top margin of her notes.  “I’ll handle that inquiry then.”

Snape tweaked the buttons on his cuff.  “That would be appreciated.”  

She moved on, “Was the book the only thing of note in the Minister’s library?”

“For now. There are many published theories about Crowdy’s death but that’s all they are, theories. I’ll know by Monday if any of them are worth pursuing.”

“Wild weekend, Snape,” she teased.

His mouth twitched in the corner. “Oh?  And what will you be doing while I’m working?”

“Decidedly _not_ working.”  Hermione began to sort her papers.

He adjusted his sleeves.  Still fidgeting, Snape unclasped the top button at his neck. 

Hermione found herself once again unexplainably mesmerized by the movement of his pale hands.

Snape’s voice, dark and low, drifted over to her, “Would you like to -”

He was cut off by the overwhelming rumble of hundreds of stacked files popping into the office. Files were stacked a metre high over every available space, even on things that were already there, and the stacks on the floor were twice as high. A file at the apex of a stack in front of her slid off, causing a small avalanche when the rest of them followed. 

“Bloody hell,” Hermione whispered. 

While at the same time Snape said, “What the _fuck_.” 

“I - I don’t know - _oh shit_.”  She slapped her forehead.  “When Harry put in his request he asked for every file that originated on June 3 1781.”

“ _Every_ file,” Snape repeated. 

“Do you think the Aurors were used for every complaint?  I can’t imagine there was this much crime on one day…”

She flipped open random files to read the summarizations: _fist fight in corridor over mouldy cheese smell_ , and _suspected serial pikelet thief strikes again_ , and another _confiscated bayonet_ , and yet another _wig tossed into Atrium fountain_.

Hermione groaned with a hint of a whine, “This is going to take me weeks to sort.” 

“Are you a witch or are you not, Granger?” came his dry reply from somewhere on his side of the room. 

She huffed out a breath which dislodged another stack. Hermione quickly _Immobulused_ it, leaving several files hanging precariously midair.  

Snape’s rich voice commanded, “ _Revelio_ mentions of Crowdy, Minister, death, door, or suspicious.” 

The files fluttered as if caught in a breeze. Hermione saw a few records on her desk glow blue. 

“Do you see any on your side?” she asked, projecting her voice above the stacks. 

“Yes.  Shall I return the rest of the bumf?” 

“Please.”

Snape vanished the files down to what Hermione hoped was Central Bookkeeping and not the incinerator.  She could only imagine the interdepartmental fallout over that if the third floor had degenerated so quickly over the appearance of the door when it had been thought of as only a minor nuisance.  

Left remaining were about four dozen files of varying thickness scattered around the room.  Hermione summoned them to her desk and they obediently stacked into one single column just slightly over a metre high.  She placed them under a stasis charm to stop them from slipping. 

She eyed the pile wearily. “I suppose this is a more manageable task.”

Snape chuckled at her.  “What did you say about not working over the weekend, Granger?”  He began to settle in, retrieving a fresh piece of parchment from a desk drawer before opening his book.

Hermione shot him a glare before peeling the top file off the stack and slapping it open. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take heed of the CW in tags if it pertains to you.

“Hello! Harry? Ginny?” Hermione called as she brushed her clothes clear from floo dust with her free hand.

The other carried a bottle of sparkling grape juice in place of their customary wine, as Ginny was now rounding into the last trimester. And a plastic bag containing brownies from the café near Hermione’s flat was wrapped around her wrist.

Grimmauld Place was quiet but Hermione heard muffled voices coming from the back of the house. She stepped over discarded toys as she walked down the hall to the kitchen. Once there, Hermione peeked through the window over the sink and saw a flash of a blue shirt as one of the Potter boys ran past in the garden. Smiling, she placed everything on the counter and walked to the open back door.

In the fenced garden the two young boys were squealing as they chased after each other. Hermione’s friends were seated across from each other at the table, holding hands and laughing about something. Hermione leaned on the doorway, immensely thankful for _this_. All her friends had been through their own versions of hell during their formative years. Nobody’s adulthood had been guaranteed. And yet… Harry and Ginny made it and had carved out a life for themselves. It warmed her greatly, to see their happiness unfold and continue to grow.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry greeted softly without looking away from Ginny.

“Hullo, Potters,” Hermione replied smiling.

Ginny turned, smiling with eyes twinkling. “I hear you have an interesting assignment.”

A rush of irritation surged through her. “Oh, so Ginny knew that Snape worked in the Mysteries but I wasn’t privy to the details until he became my partner, is that it?”

Ginny’s grin widened. “Ah-ha!” She pointed to her husband. “I told you, Harry!”

“Bugger,” Hermione sighed, her irritation deflating as quickly as it came. “You didn’t know, did you?”

“Nope! But now I do!” Ginny cackled, drawing the attention of her children.

“Aunt Hermie!” the joyous chorus cried. Two little bodies crashed into her legs and she wrapped her arms around their backs.

“Hello, my little ones,” Hermione whispered into their hair.

 

\---

 

Later, after the three adults took turns tucking the children into bed, they were sitting again on the back garden’s patio enjoying Hermione’s bottle and brownies.

Always one to be direct, Ginny asked, “So, what is it like working with your new partner?”

“Well we didn’t start off great.” Hermione hesitated before continuing, “I really did almost hex him.”

“You wot?” asked Harry, mouth full of brownie.

Embarrassed, she rushed through her explanation, “It was a misunderstanding. I thought he broke into my office. Well, he did, but he didn’t have malicious intent. Anyway -” she caught the beginning of a concerning glimmer in Ginny’s eye - “after that, he’s actually been sort of... great.”

“Great,” Ginny echoed.

Hermione swatted the air dismissively. “I mean, for as great as Snape can be.”

Ginny’s eyebrows rose behind her bangs.

Growing flustered, Hermione continued, “I mean, I don’t have to worry about being looked at as a… an…” she struggled to find the right words and ended lamely, “an insufferable know-it-all.”

“You do remember he coined that phrase, right?” Ginny asked, smirking.

Hermione sighed heavily and dropped her head into her palm. She muttered, “Yes. But we aren’t the same people we were then.”

“Oh, we’ve known that about Severus for quite some time now haven’t we, Harry?” Hermione startled at the use of his given name. But she supposed it was only natural for them, they did name their second son partly after the man.

Harry nodded, still heartedly enjoying his brownie, with another already queued on his plate.

“He doesn’t seem to mind so much now that I am capable of thinking myself out of a paper bag.”

“Of course not, it’s probably quite the boon for him to have you as a partner.”

“You think so?” Hermione asked just a bit too eager.

Ginny nodded. “He’s always had to work with daft dunderheads, right? You’re definitely not one of them.” Her expression changed slightly, to something odd that was somewhat unsettling. “You’re actually quite a lot alike, I guess. The two of you together sort of makes sense.”

“Well, uh, thanks I suppose, Gin-”

Ginny cut her off quickly and whispered conspiratorially, “He’s always so put together and uptight, now that I think of it. You could really loosen him up, I bet. And he has that sharp-witted tongue.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s probably good for _other_ _things_ too.”

Harry sputtered out his brownie and Hermione knocked over her glass, grape juice spreading over the table.

“Alright, alright, goodness you two,” Ginny held up her hands in mock-surrender. “I was just making the connection that you’re already well-suited intellectually… maybe there’s a possibility for something more _satisfying_? Would that really be so bad?”

Red-faced Hermione vanished her spilled drink. “Yes, it would be highly inappropriate. He’s my _partner_ , Gin.” But now that salacious idea’s seed had been planted. Appallingly, her treasonous body eagerly thrummed with the possibility as to exactly what _other_ _things_ Severus’ tongue could do. She began to sputter, no longer sure who she was trying to convince, “I just can’t - it would be - even if I - there are boundaries - he wouldn’t -”

Harry, in an effort to move the conversation to absolutely anything else, quickly asked, “Did the files come through before you left the office for the weekend?”

Ginny rolled her eyes at the obvious deflection but continued to grin indelicately, as if she were also entertaining thoughts on Severus’ tongue. Hermione just hoped that when Ginny brought this up again, and she would because she never let anything just lie, Severus would be conveniently out of hearing range. Preferably somewhere in the Himalayas.

Hermione answered, thankful for the distraction and pointedly not making eye contact with Ginny, “Yes, Harry, although there had to be a few hundred. Apparently, your office used to handle _every_ complaint two hundred years ago.”

He hissed through his teeth. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright.” She shrugged. “I’m almost finished with the relevant ones.”

A silence fell over the group. Hermione noticed Ginny picking the walnuts out of her brownie while giving Harry an odd look. 

Hesitantly, Hermione began, “Is there -”

Ginny rushed over her, “Harry has something to tell you.”

Harry blushed and looked down at his plate. 

“What is it, Harry?”

“Um,” he sighed, looking at a point over her shoulder. “It’s about the meeting I had with Kinsgley.”

Immediate panic shot through Hermione. She had known it couldn’t have been a good meeting; people receive bad news before a weekend. This just solidified how incredibly incompetent the entire government was, letting Harry go when he was the best damn thing to happen to it. And after absolutely _everything_. Hermione was going to hex Kingsley the next time she saw him, ethics investigation be damned. “Oh, oh no, Harry -”

“I got a promotion,” Harry cut in quietly.

“I can’t believe it, those berks don't know - wait, what?” Hermione’s mind came skittering to a halt. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she was able to properly process what he had said. Her screech of joy woke the children.

 

\---

 

“And what has you this chuffed already this morning?” Snape asked as he entered their office a quarter to eight, eyeing how Hermione bounced on her heels. “You’re buzzing like a blasted pixie.”

Prior to his arrival she had been dithering in front of the filing cabinets, feigning an interest in her ward schematic. Hermione would never admit to it, ever, but she had been eagerly waiting for him to arrive so she could share the news.

Snape arranged himself in his chair, legs crossed primly at the knee, and hands interlaced over his stomach. His eyes tracked her as she twirled on her toes and perched on the corner of his desk. Snape looked up to Hermione expectantly, a quirk of a smile.

Unable to contain her excitement, Hermione gushed out, “Harry received a promotion!”

“Yes,” Snape drawled as if bored. “I arrived at Kingsley’s office just after he had received the news.”

Ignoring his tone she continued, “He’ll be the youngest Head Auror ever appointed at the Ministry.”

“Yes, and despite that, I’m sure he will prove himself to be competent.”

“He’ll be bloody brilliant,” Hermione leaned down to him slightly, smiling wide. “And you know it.”

“Quite.”

The corners of Snape’s mouth twitched, relaxing his face. His eyes, she noticed, had become deep, dark, and warm.

And then, embarrassingly, Hermione thought about how very attractive this wizard in front of her was. When she finally processed what she had just thought she shot straight up onto her feet and rushed to safety behind her desk. 

Hermione bent down with the pretense of rifling through her bag for her notes. _Damnable Ginny_ , she accused. If Ginny had just kept her musings about her sex life - or lack of one, as it were - to herself she wouldn’t be entertaining this intrusive thought. Hermione wouldn’t now be fighting off mental images of the ministrations of Severus’ tongue, or hands, or voice…

How juvenile, Hermione chastised, to be having these depraved thoughts. He was her former professor. But an equal partner _now_ , her devious brain inserted, quite proud of itself for finding a loophole.

Alright then, it surely had to be considered crude to be developing a crush on someone two decades her senior. Ah, but wizard life expectancies are double that of Muggles and a wizard nearing his fifties would be in his _prime_ , the small little voice whispered.

Growing aggravated with herself Hermione pushed back, shoving these thoughts deep, deep down.

When she finally appeared again above her desk she saw that he had summoned her a cup of coffee. 

“Even though your current mood suggests otherwise,” Snape said from across the room, looking down at his own set of notes, “I took the liberty.”

Quietly Hermione whispered her thanks. Exceedingly thankful for the distractions of work she asked, “What great secrets did the book share?”

Snape flipped through his notes and read off the bullet points, counting up with his fingers as he went, “Elected Minister for two cycles, in office for eleven years. Charismatic and well liked by contemporaries. Demanded neutrality during the American Revolution. And his major political promise was to apprehend pure-blood extremists.”

“How did he achieve that?” Hermione asked, sipping her coffee.

“Mostly through espionage.”

“Did he actually do that _himself_?”

He raised an eyebrow, shooting her a pointed look. “You saw the files from the Auror Department. Micromanagers in authority often expect the same from those below them.”

She tapped a finger against her cup. Skeptical, she said, “Going out on raids is a foolish activity for a government leader.”

“There used to be a time when kings or queens did more than visit charities,” Snape said dryly. “Lastly, he fathered nine children. However, the youngest died unexpectedly a few months after birth in early 1781.”

Hermione sat a little straighter. “Do you think that’s relevant?”

“Unclear.” He adjusted his papers. “Borders on too coincidental, though, don’t you agree?” He turned to her properly.

“Yes, the timing is strange.” Hermione paused, moving around a thought. Quietly, she said, “Unless it was poisoning, you know, testing it on a child first.” She shuddered away a sudden chill. “But, thankfully, that doesn’t seem likely based on the reports.”

Snape gestured for her to continue.

She spread out her notes. “First, there were no reports of a phantom door appearing or disappearing in the third-floor corridor. The inquiries into the Minister’s death, though, were quite long. Did you know they hadn’t realized he was missing at first?”

He nodded. “The biography did mention that he was missing for over a day before his wife owled the office.”

Hermione tilted her head. “How does that happen, exactly? Missing a missing person?”

“She probably didn’t find it strange at first if he was routinely out on reconnaissance,” he said knowingly, a hint of their shared history laced in his words.

A sudden feeling of sadness enveloped Hermione’s chest. And a flurry of thoughts invaded her head: Would anybody had known if Snape had a particularly bad Death Eater meeting? How long would he have had to be gone before Dumbledore became concerned? Would he have asked the Order to search for him? Would Snape have even been deemed important enough? How many times had it almost happened only for him to keep returning to Voldemort time and time again?

Mentally swatting these depressing, hurtful thoughts away, Hermione continued, “She was incredibly distraught, almost hysterical, throughout her four interviews. There was no mention that she lost her child just months before. Her emotional reaction makes so much more sense now.”

“Anything odd about his known last day?”

She shook her head as she flipped over some of her notes. “Completely normal. No threatening letters or visitors. It didn’t make sense at the time, of course, but we realize the significance of his last traceable magical signature now.”

Snape tapped his chin with three fingers. “The third-floor corridor.”

“Yes, but at the time they couldn’t explain how he just vanished into... thin air.” Hermione gestured vaguely in the air around her. “They assumed he must have disapparated, but he left no departing signature on the wards.” A peculiar expression crossed her face. “I just realized that there wasn’t any record of anyone checking the blueprints as we did.”

“Maybe they did,” Snape said slowly, “but it never made it into the report.”

Confused, she shot him a glance. “Even if the plans had been doctored since the beginning how do you suppose -”

Snape cut her off quietly, almost gently, “ _Obliviate_. Or _Imperio_.”

“Alright,” Hermione shuddered. “Crowdy could have easily made enemies as he tracked down pure-blood extremists. There wasn’t a list of them in the book was there?” she asked half serious.

“No,” he sighed. “But pure-bloods love their family trees. It would be easy enough to trace the lineages back. However, we could be working on that for months.”

Hermione sat back in her chair, holding her half-empty cup. “So, all we’ve managed to confirm is that the door is probably related to Crowdy’s assumed death.” Her face scrunched up a bit. “But I don’t understand how a door is a murder weapon.”

Snape thought for a moment, his head tilted back and eyes closed. “Do you recall what was behind the door on the plans?”

She answered in the negative.

“There was nothing. No room or space behind it. It could have been a portal.”

Dubious, Hermione asked, “But wouldn’t he see where it led when he opened the door? Or at the very least be suspicious?”

He shrugged.

They sat for a moment in comfortable silence.

Then Hermione said, “I'm meeting with the Headmistress tomorrow afternoon.”

“She always did like a good chat.” As an afterthought, Snape added, “And she makes divine Ginger Newts.”

Startled by this bit of information she asked, “Do you miss Hogwarts at all?”

Snape scoffed, “I am _not_ sentimental.” He twisted in his chair, looking away from her.

Despite herself she smirked a little, hiding it behind her cup. “No, of course not.” Hermione paused before continuing, “I also owled Bill before the weekend. I asked for a copy of our official notes about our assignment to Lednica Castle. There was something peculiar about the building, I think, but I want the notes in front of me before I attempt to explain it.”

"Fair enough.” Snape stretched his legs and stood. 

“What are you going to do now?” she asked. 

“I’m going to speak to MacGille about suggesting to the Minister that he should avoid the third-floor for the foreseeable future. And then,” Snape snatched off her ward schematic from the board, “I’m going to begin dismantling the wards.”

Hermione began to sort her papers. “Let me wrap up a few things here and I’ll join you shortly.”

“Splendid.” She thought she might have imagined it but Snape seemed to have meant it.

 

\---

 

Later, Hermione took her time approaching Snape as he worked in the third-floor hallway. Even behind a hazy variant of _Muffliato_ his lean form, dressed in his dark tailored clothes, stood out in the bright white hallway. He twisted his arm through the air as he guided a ward thread out of a knot.

When Hermione passed through the boundary of the spell he came into sharper focus. Snape had tied his hair back in a half knot and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. Snape’s discarded outer robe lay forgotten on a chair against the wall behind him.

Hermione’s eyes darted to his arm, the Dark Mark was there, but only just. Faded and pale, it could have been easily overlooked if you weren’t looking for it. Snape released the thread into the ether. She realized she must have been staring because he turned, elegant eyebrow raised, to acknowledge her.

Hermione greeted, “Look at what Bill just sent me.”

Snape dragged his eyes slowly all the way down to her waist, making her face heat. “I see no hideous Weasley sweater from the Matron.”

A breathy laugh escaped her, “No, that’s only for the hols.” She waved a set of papers. “He sent this and I think you’ll be interested in it.”

“I am dying of anticipation,” Snape said dryly.

“They're our notes. It was generational magic at play at Lednica. The wards were so impressive because each generation of the same bloodline built them up for the next.”

“Yes,” he drawled. “Malfoy Manor is built on a similar foundation.”

“Exactly. But I think the practice could also apply to our current project.”

Incredulous, Snape spat, “The door? How do you figure that, Granger?”

“Generational magic works best when it’s done in the same place and time, yes? You didn’t think it odd that the door appeared on the same day in June on two separate instances in the same exact place?”

He gave a conceding nod. “Yes, that’s a good point. But how do you figure the person living now was able to dredge up a two-hundred-year-old spell?”

“I have two theories, and they may be interconnected.” Hermione counted off with her fingers. “One, that perhaps the person didn’t realize what they were doing. Or two, the building, remembering what was there before, sort of… intuitively realized the significance of the day, the caster’s lineage, and their intent. And supplied the door for them.”

Repeating a past criticism Snape said, “Buildings _aren’t_ sentient.”

Hermione huffed. “No, but Hogwarts was always a bit… quirky. I think the Ministry could be forgiven for its idiosyncrasies. Besides, it doesn’t seem likely that this was a very well known spell among the family; we’d be having people go missing almost annually.”

Snape rolled his eyes and then waved his hand from side to side. “Go back to what you meant by intent. Intent to kill the Minister, you think?”

She shook her head. “I think they just had the intent to kill. And besides, if the target was the Minister they did a lousy job of it. Shacklebolt had tried to open the door already, hadn’t he, and it didn’t open?”

Snape inclined his head in an affirmative.

“The door didn’t behave properly. And while I think a lot of that had to do with the two-hundred-year gap between then and now, there’s also a possibility of user error. Maybe the caster didn’t know how to unward the door. It wasn’t one of their own design, after all. Or if they did, they didn’t do it for some reason. And maybe they meant to vanish it, but couldn’t figure out how and ran out of time when it was discovered weeks later.”

He smirked. “So, your general theory as to why the door remains is gross incompetence.”

Hermione shrugged. “Isn’t that the best trait of a possible murderous psychopath?”

He was silent for a moment as he regarded her. Then, Snape bowed his head slightly. “I concede that you may be on to something here with this little theory of yours.”

Hermione released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “Well, thanks for that.” She rolled the notes into her pocket and shrugged out of her outer robe. Hermione threw the garment behind them on to the chair with Snape’s. “Now, budge up, so I can assist your dismantling.”

Snape gestured beside him, raising an amused brow.

 

\---

 

They inadvertently worked through lunch, the hours passing quickly as they waltzed around each other, removing ward threads one after the other. Neither spoke much other than the occasional direction as to where their thread was leading them: up, down, on your left.

The door unequivocally had one of the most complex ward systems Hermione had ever encountered. The multiple ward layers were comprised of wispy threads that were woven, twisted, or looped back on itself and occasionally the layer underneath. 

The pair were constantly changing positions to adjust the other threads so they could unravel it piece by piece without getting it tangled into a rat’s nest. Hermione was impressed that Snape had been able to do any of the work himself, it was much more efficient to have an extra set of hands.

Finally, they were nearing the bottom of the layers and the unraveling was becoming easier with fewer threads. Snape was taking a break, leaning his shoulder on the door’s wall, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

Hermione used her free hand to will a thread to lift just a fraction, as she pushed the thread she was working on under it with a twist of her wand. She followed its path as it swirled around, carefully peeling it up to remove it entirely.

Suddenly, a warm hand grasped her wrist. Startled, she looked up at Snape. He was looking intently at her forearm. Snape’s free hand ran smoothly down its length. Knowing what was there, Hermione’s stomach dropped into the floor. She didn’t want him to know.

“You glamor this area.” 

Hermione whispered, “Yes.”

“What is it?”

In an attempt to hide her anxiety she joked flatly, “It’s not a Mark, obviously, or you’d know.”

Snape’s jaw hardened, “ _Granger…_ ”

“I have it glamored for a reason.”

He muttered gently, “Scars should not be considered a weakness.”

“You’re right,” Hermione said softly as she lifted two fingers to trace over the visible scar on Snape’s neck above his collar. “But some of us are still working on accepting that.”

They stood like that for several long seconds. Snape softly holding her wrist, Hermione resting her hand above his clavicle. She could feel his pulse thundering under her touch. Snape was looking at her in an oddly intimate way as if he were willing her to understand _something_ through look alone. His dark eyes were fixed on her face, drawing her into their depths. Completely involuntarily, Hermione’s eyes flicked down to his lips, and her breath hitched infinitesimally.

Snape took a slow step back, letting her arm fall to her side. He cleared his throat. As he spoke he fastened several buttons on his collar, only to unbutton them again in quick succession. “Do you wish to continue or shall we take a break?”

Hermione blushed. She was a fool, wasn’t she? She was only having feelings of attraction because he was an intelligent man who was forced to spend time in her company. Snape was more accomplished than she could ever hope to be. At the completion of their assignment he would go back to the depths of the department, and this sudden crush on her teacher fourteen years too late would disappear. 

Bill had written a postscript that there was a coworker in his department that seemed her type. Resigned, Hemione supposed she should ask for an introduction. It wasn’t that she was actively looking to not date. Just that the eligible men in her dating pool didn’t appear all that interesting.

But, obviously, her mind and body were making Snape seem like a good prospect to latch on to because he was conveniently around. That’s all it was. That’s all it could be. A lovesick fool’s misplaced recipient of attraction.

“I think we’re almost done. Let’s keep going,” Hermione said quietly, hoping her voice was steady enough to hide her foolish disappointment.

Snape nodded before turning back to the door. They refused to make eye contact with each other as they unraveled the remaining threads. In short order, the door was clear of its protective coverings.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Snape had pointed his wand at the door but looked over at her before proceeding. Hermione braced her stance, leveled her wand, and inclined her head gesturing her readiness. 

With a gentle languid movement Snape swept his wand over the door. It opened slowly, soundlessly. Inside was a dark void.

Hermione’s forehead wrinkled as she contemplated the doorway. It certainly didn’t seem to _go_ anywhere. But where would it take you if you stepped through? And why didn’t Crowdy suspect anything amiss?

“Do you hear that?” Snape whispered suddenly.

The hall was silent except for the soft buzzing of the _Muffliato_. “There’s nothing.”

His eyes were becoming glassy. “No, the voices. Don’t you hear them?”

“There are no voices, Snape. It’s just an empty doorway.” Something about this exchange was niggling at Hermione’s memories, giving her déjà vu.

Snape took a small step forward. “Did you see that?” he whispered harshly.

The doorway could have possibly rippled but it was basically the same as before. “There’s still nothing,” Hermione repeated.

“There’s someone there. Just inside. They are -” he stepped forward again, his wand hand dropping to his side. 

Alarmed, Hermione stepped to his side and hissed, “Snape! What are you doing?”

“I - the voice, it sounds familiar. If I get closer I’m sure I can place it.” Snape took another step forward.

“What are you talking about? There are no voices. There is nothing -” at that moment her memory caught up to her. Twelve years ago. Down several corridors and twisting stairwells, deep, deep into her department. Just past the infuriating Room of Doors, the room where interlopers were funneled into. The Veil. The rippling dark Veil of the Death Chamber. 

“N - no - no - no,” Hermione stuttered.

Ignoring her, Snape was just a step away from entering the door. “I think...” he said alarmingly flat as he reached out his hand to touch the void.

Suddenly, Hermione’s panicked magic burst from around her in a flash of blinding light as she screamed, “ _SEVERUS!_ ”


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione’s magic leaped out of her, completely feral and out of her control.  The burst of light that accompanied it was almost blinding, an orb of bright white completely enveloping their space.  Her magic unfurled, rushing - running - darting across the hall. It acted as a solid object as it lassoed around Snape’s waist.  Hermione felt it pull back against him, the coils growing uncomfortably tight. She gasped for air. Everything was just a little _too_ tight, _too_ loud, _too_ bright.

And then, at that same moment, something eerily similar to a corner of the Veil leaked out into the hall.  Hermione knew that this couldn’t be possible. She had been in the Death Chamber. The damn Veil was framed within an arch, it literally had no corners.  Yet, here was this devious demonic thing spilling out of the doorway, flapping to beckon Severus to take that one final step inside the doorway. It was horror materialized.  

Hermione’s heart felt heavy, her brain was fuzzy, her body was trembling.  And yet, even if Snape wasn’t aware of it, she was here. Hermione was the only one here.  And she had to save him. Or die trying.

On a whim, Hermione swept her hand to her magic and it solidified under her touch.  She immediately dropped her wand. Hermione grasped her magic two-handed like a rope, braced her feet, and leaned back as far as she could go, urging her magic to pull him back.  It burned into her palms, the blisters immediate. She pulled on the rope and saw Snape skid back just a foot or two. His face was disturbingly contorted as he fought against the restraints.

“Stop fighting me, Severus, goddammit!” Hermione yelled.  

The Veil’s tendrils leaked out more, billowing into the hallway, licking the floor, a dark ghost creeping towards Snape.  Hermione smelled something dark, dusty, ashy… something she hadn’t smelled so pungent in over ten years: Death.

“ _NO!_ ” Hermione screamed. “You can’t have him!”  

Her magic surged again, and she faltered under the pressure.  It was suffocating. Hermione tried to gasp in a deep breath of air but found she couldn’t; her lungs simultaneously felt too full and too empty.  Hermione grit her teeth as another rope materialized and wound around Snape; she would do what she could to withstand the strain. But it hurt. Everything was pain.  

Hermione let out a guttural yell as she leaned back again. Her palms were slick with blood. The fear of losing her grip became real. She felt hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.  Hermione was doing the best she could. What if it wasn’t enough? Her vision started to grow dark around the edges. 

What if it wasn’t enough?  What if _she_ wasn’t enough? 

Lunging, Hermione used all her strength to hold the rope taut.  Her magic was blinding, burning, smothering her. She felt her body folding.  It was too much. _Everything_ was too much. 

And then Snape’s steps faltered and the rope slackened. 

Hope refused to bloom. They weren’t out of it yet.  Wars of greater significance were lost by even smaller premature elations. Hermione only allowed herself to renew her focus.  

She adjusted her grip; Hermione’s hands were burning now, palms starting to char. She braced her weight and pulled the rope taut again.  

Severus skid back again.  Then as he lost his balance he fell to his knees.  The rope slipped out of her grasp and Hermione fell back onto her rear.  

Hermione’s magic that had been wrapped around Snape uncoiled and slithered across the hall, chasing the Veil back into the doorway.  It hooked itself around the door, slammed it closed, and then silently dissipated away in a fine mist.

Hermione was sitting on the floor, her legs splayed out in front of her, gasping for air, drenched in sweat.  Everything hurt. White spots danced in front of her eyes. There was a dull ringing in her ears. Her palms were bloody and black.  She was exhausted. Hermione hadn't even had her magic depleted like this at the Battle of Hogwarts. Before, during the War… well, before was completely different, Hermione supposed.  It just couldn’t compare.   

Hermione looked over at Severus, who still faced towards the door. He was sitting back on his heels breathing heavy with his shoulders hunched. 

“Are -” her voice was shaky and raw.  “Are you... alright?”  

He only weakly waved a hand in her direction in response.  

She nodded, although Snape couldn’t have seen it.  She stretched out flat on the floor. The coldness of the linoleum was a welcome respite.  Hermione stared blankly at the ceiling. Her body was too tired to move. Her hands didn’t hurt as much now, and Hermione assumed she was going into shock. The ringing in her ears was fading. But Hermione’s brain kept whirling just as fast as it was before.  

How come only one of them was affected by the Veil?   It was the same as when she was a teenager; when her friends had come under the Veil’s hypnosis but not her.  Hermione had experienced death since then. Why did she still continue to have the same nonreaction? Was Severus aware as to what just happened?  It was similar to the _Imperio_ , wasn’t it?  Did Crowdy know what was happening to him?  Did he fight against it? Was he even able to?

Suddenly, Hermione heard a sizzling from the air around them.  Weakly, she attempted to reach for her wand that had dropped near her.  But her arm’s muscles refused to cooperate. As Hermione looked over to Snape she saw hazy human forms outside the boundary of the altered _Muffliato._   

The boundary disappeared with a crackle and Harry, MacGille, and Saunders came into focus. Harry, as an Auror, hid his panic well but Hermione had known him long enough to catch the glimpse of terror in his eyes as he looked over the pair.

Saunders gasped, hand covering his mouth.  

“Bloody hell,” MacGille croaked as he knelt beside Severus, looking the man over.

“The door,” Snape groaned.  “We need -”

“Hermione,” Harry soothed next to her.  He knelt beside her and forced her to miss the rest of Severus’ statement to MacGille.  He cast a simple medical diagnostic spell over her. “ _Fuck_ , Hermione,” Harry whispered.  “Your magic is almost entirely depleted.  What happened here?”

“The door,” Hermione moaned.  “It’s -”

“No, nevermind.”  Harry put a warm hand on her arm.  “You can explain this to me later if you’re able to.  But right now we have to get you out of this hallway.”  

Harry scanned the hall to see several people loitering in front of the Obliviator’s Headquarters. He growled, an authoritative tone echoing down the corridor, “Go on! There’s nothing to see here!” Thankfully, they scattered.

“Harry,” Hermione pleaded, grasping weakly to his sleeve, realizing seconds too late that she had smeared blood and black soot on him.  “We can’t leave -”

“It’ll be okay,” Harry hushed.  “I just heard MacGille send for a sentinel, okay?  Let’s focus on getting you up, alright, old girl?”

Hermione then heard MacGille’s scolding tone, but couldn’t hear the details of the conversation.  A surge of righteous fury ran through her, MacGille wasn’t trying to blame her partner for this, was he?

“Severus -” she began.  

Harry said gently, “He’s alright.”  If Harry had noticed Hermione had used her partner’s first name, he didn’t react.

“No, Mac - Mac - MacGille -”

“Hermione, I know this is difficult for you.  But you really need to stop talking for just a moment,” Harry said concerned.  

She managed to peek past Harry to see Severus attempting to stand.  Snape was wobbly on his feet and was leaning heavily on MacGille to get his balance.  He turned towards her, his eyes finding hers. Then MacGille stood between them, breaking their eye contact after only a few scant seconds, as he attempted to assist Snape.

Hermione struggled heavily to get to her feet, her limbs protesting.  This was an impossible task. She couldn’t even feel her feet; was she standing upright or sitting down?  Hermione couldn’t tell. She tried to yank on Harry’s arms again. If Harry noticed her ruined hands he didn’t say anything.  Finally, Harry heaved her weight upright. He slung one of her arms across his shoulders and gripped her waist tightly with his free hand.  Harry pressed her into his side, an unsaid promise of carrying Hermione however far they needed to go.

Harry explained, “I’m worried about using magic with you right now.  I don’t want to overload your already sensitive system. Let me be your legs.”

Everything was heavy.  Everything thrummed with a deep-seated ache.  Hermione’s head rolled on her neck; it was too cumbersome to hold upright.  “Home,” she whispered.

“Not yet, let’s get you stable at the medistation first,” Harry said as he dragged them to the lift.  “Soon though. I’ll stay with you,” he promised.

Hermione managed to look over his shoulder as they dredged down the hall.  Severus was watching her intently. His posture was rigid. Snape’s hair had come undone sometime during the melee and now lay limply around his face.  And his eyes…

Severus’ eyes were pools of unbridled terror.  He was scared.  

Snape blinked slowly.  And the fear was gone.  He had put up his usual mask again.  Severus turned his head away from her to answer something MacGille asked. 

Hermione knew she saw his fear.  She knew it. Because she had _felt_ it. 

Her heart ached.  Hermione wanted to embrace Severus.  To feel his heavy arms around her, to hold him in turn.  Reassure Snape that they were alright. To stay with him. And feel Severus’ heartbeat thundering under her touch again to confirm that he was alive.  

Instead, Hermione was too weak to do much of anything but allow her oldest friend to escort her to the Ministry’s Medical Office.

 

\---

 

Harry had been true to his word and stayed with her while they were at the mediwizard station.  The nurses had wanted to initially admit Hermione to St. Mungo’s, but thankfully Harry protested on her behalf.  They begrudgingly cleaned up her hands and had slapped burn salves and flesh replenishing potions over top.  By the time Hermione left her hands had begun to flake, the dead skin falling off. Harry had also been insistent that she become stable enough to walk under her own power before leaving.  So, the nurses had fed Hermione copious amounts of chocolate and gave her a Wideye Potion for good measure. After her records had been scrawled with _Patient Discharged Against Medical Advice_ Harry escorted Hermione home via Muggle taxi.  

Hermione didn’t really remember if Harry had paid with the proper currency or how he managed to navigate her up to her fourth-floor walkup.  But they must have been successful because Hermione woke in her own bed in just the t-shirt and knickers she had been wearing under her work clothes.  While she was certain at the hour thanks to her bedside clock, four in the afternoon, she wasn’t sure what day it was. Technically, it could have been Monday still, Hermione supposed.  Although it felt like she had slept longer than just a few hours. Tuesday was likely. Wednesday seemed like a stretch.  

Her bladder protesting, Hermione lurched out of bed.  She stumbled slightly but caught herself on her bedpost.  Hermione winced. She looked down at her hands. They were pink and tender, as if sunburnt.  But no longer bloody or burnt black. She would have to remember to be gentle with herself.  Hermione gingerly put on her slippers, grabbed her thin robe, and plucked out a fresh pair of pyjamas from her wardrobe.  Then, a little unsteady but doing fair, she walked down the short hall to the bathroom.

After a long slow shower, and the comforting therapeutic steps of making a warm cup of tea the Muggle way, she folded herself onto her sofa in front of the fireplace.  Hermione’s sofa ran across most of the width of her living room. Across from one end was the front door, and the other her magically expanded bookcase flanked by two windows.  A coffee table, just as long but not quite as wide as her couch, was centered between the hearth and her seating.

Hermione gripped her cup with two hands as she brought it up to her lips.

Suddenly, a flash came from her fireplace and a terse brogue accent wafted out, “Hermione Granger.”

Hermione yelped, spilling her tea down her front.  “Oh, Minerva,” she sputtered.  

“You stood me up, barra.”  The floating head of Minerva McGonagall tsked.  

“I apologize, I never sent -” Hermione set down the cup on the table between them and instinctively pulled her robe tighter over her wet shirt. 

“Hush, Hermione,” Minerva said quietly, eyes glinting in mischief.  “Mr. Potter owled me. He said he checked your calendar after a work accident.  I hope it wasn’t too serious.”

“I’ll be alright after some rest.”

Minerva gave her a disapproving glance. “You can’t work yourself into oblivion.”

Hermione hummed. “Curious, I’ve received that advice recently.” 

“It’s good advice. I tell that to all the novice teachers. You can’t be good to anyone if you work yourself halfway to death.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Hermione teased. 

Minerva waved a hand at her, dismissing the teasing, causing the floo flames to flutter. “I didn’t want you to feel poorly about missing our tea.  We can reschedule when you’re feeling better.”

“Thank you.”  After a pause, Hermione said, “My work partner actually talks highly of the quality of your Ginger Newts.”

Minerva gave her a cockeyed glance, imitating her animagus form.  “Did you know he will not allow an old woman to stay put for a visit, but instead forces me to visit him?”

Hermione prickled slightly, ready to defend him, “He -”

“I tease, Hermione,” Minerva said gently.  “We all still fight our own demons, aye?  And if anyone should be shown some leniency, it should be him.” Hermione’s former mentor then concluded, “I will make sure that the Newts are stocked for you.  Owl me when you can.” Then the floating head was gone and her fireplace was cold again.

Hermione stood slowly with the intent of making her way to her wardrobe, not yet trusting herself to use magic to _Scourgify_ her shirt clean.  As Hermione crossed in front of her sofa a knock came from her door.

She sighed, it was probably Harry coming to check in on her.  “I’m on the way,” Hermione called out tentatively. She was already feeling fatigued and she had been up for only forty-five minutes.  Hermione gripped the arm of her sofa to regain her balance before crossing to her door.

Hermione opened it with a greeting on her lips but stopped short when she saw who it was.  Severus was standing on the other side of her threshold holding a takeout bag and what looked like their compilation of notes from the office.

Hermione’s body instantly came to life.  Everything - her heart, her brain, her stomach, her fingers - everything felt the immense, overwhelming relief at seeing him alive. Snape’s impossibly perfect posture, his long pale fingers gripping the bag, the way his hair had swayed from the breeze she caused when she opened the door… everything was just as it was before and Hermione would have laughed at the relief she felt, except she was far too shocked.

Meanwhile, Severus looked her up and down immediately; his eyes roving so quickly over her form Hermione wasn’t even sure what he was looking for.  Self-conscious, Hermione tugged her robe’s waistband tighter.

She managed to quietly ask,  “How did you know where I live?” But then shook her head, remembering how Severus inexplicably knew where her office was last week.  Hermione sighed. “Don’t bother answering that.”

She moved aside to let him in.

“Mr. Potter was on his way to see you,” Severus’ voice was soft and low.

He looked around her small flat.  It was a one bedroom, with a very tiny eat-in kitchen.  But, three features had drawn her to sign the lease: the kitchen’s pass-through to the living room, because it reminded Hermione of her family’s home in Hampstead; the bedroom’s walk-in closet that she had converted into a tiny, tidy home office; and the big built-in bookcase she had magically expanded.  Overall it was modest, something she could afford on her salary, and it fit her solitary lifestyle.  

Hermione gestured towards her kitchen, indicating that’s where he could unload the takeaway.  “And you generously took his place?”

Snape didn’t answer as he walked by her.  Hermione huffed and closed the door. She followed, albeit just a little slower. 

Severus put down the things he was carrying on her counter and then turned to her.  

Snape held out a hand, palm up.  Confused, Hermione stared at it.

“Your hand,” he then said.

“What?”

Severus opened his hand a little wider.  “Let me see your hand.” 

“Oh.”

Hermione placed her hand on top of his.  Palms touching, her fingers grazing his wrist.  She was surprised at how soft and warm his hand was. She, for some reason, assumed there would be more calluses. Then, Severus turned hers over and began to inspect her palm.  One hand held it gently while the other’s fingers ghosted over her skin. Regrettably, Hermione’s body appreciated the intimacy more than she considered appropriate.

“Does it still hurt?” Severus asked.

“It’s tender,” Hermione admitted.  “But I applied aloe after my shower earlier.”

Snape nodded, bent over a little to better see her hand.  “Burn paste would heal it faster.”

She shrugged.  “Muggle-born,” she said as if that explained her reasoning.

“The other one, now,” he requested.  “Did the mediwitches apply any flesh-replenishing potions?”

“Yes.”

Snape hummed low.  “They look like they’ll heal adequately.” He finished gently, “But you must be careful.”

Hermione nodded dumbly as he let go of her hand. She delicately rubbed her hands together, trying to rid them of the itching sensation caused by his ministrations.  Hermione couldn’t tell if they prickled because of pain or pleasure and therefore chose to fervently ignore it the best she could.

She then asked, “You didn’t hex Harry when you took his place for a visit, did you?”

Severus snorted as he began to remove containers from the bag.  “It wouldn’t do well for my job security if I hexed the next Head Auror, would it?  I am wounded you think so little of me.” He opened the cabinet overhead to bring down some plates and bowls.

“Based on past experiences though -”

“I _never_ hexed children,” Snape’s voice had become a little tight.  He turned away from her, to riffle through her silverware drawer.

“But you wanted to, surely.  I mean, I set you on fire once.”

Severus then became very still.  While the sudden bark of laughter surprised her, she found herself liking it… a lot.  He spun back to her, smirking. “You really were an insufferable lot, weren’t you?”

Hermione smiled and shrugged innocently.  

Snape opened a container.  The aroma of won-ton soup floated to her.  “That’s one of my favorites,” she said softly as he poured it into a bowl.

“Yes, I figured as much.”

Hermione crossed her arms and leaned against the counter.  “And did you also deduce the layout of my kitchen omnipotently?  Don’t think I didn’t notice you oddly knew where everything was.”

“You’re a logical person.”  Severus began plating various noodles and vegetables.  “It’s most efficient to keep dinnerware close to where you’d serve guests.  I assumed correctly that you use the pass-through for most of your visitors. Cutlery makes the most sense close to the sink, simply because it’s easier to store them there rather than walking across your kitchen after washing them. And I know you wash them because you have dish soap, something rarely seen in magical households.”  Snape eyed the cabinet under her sink. “I could probably even tell you how you store your potatoes, if you’d like.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “No need, thanks.”

Severus chuckled.  “As you wish. Now, where would you prefer to sit?”

“Would it be terribly uncouth to eat on the sofa?  The coffee table is larger than my kitchen table. And I don’t want to sit on these hard chairs.  But first,” Hermione dropped her arms and straightened, “I need to change my shirt. I spilled tea on myself before you arrived.”

Severus’ eyes widened and a ribbon of panic fell over his face briefly before he hid it.  “You didn’t scald yourself, did you?” he rushed out quietly, stepping closer to her.  

“No, I -” Severus opened her robe with two fingers, the waistband falling loose.  “I’m fine.”

He tsked quietly, eyes roving over the stain. Silently and wandlessly, Snape cast a _Scourgify._   His magic made Hermione’s skin tingle, and the nerve endings in her spine caught fire.

“Better, even,” Hermione whispered, eyes wide.

As if startled, Snape took a step back, avoiding eye contact. “I shouldn’t have presumed -”

“No,” Hermione cut him off, placing her hand on his arm.  “Thank you, Sn….” she trailed off. Screwing her courage, she blurted out, “It feels _wrong_ to call you Snape after what happened at…” she gestured awkwardly in the empty space beside them.  “Would it be alright if I called you Severus, if only in private?”

Something flashed over Snape’s face, an emotion she didn’t have time to identify before he spoke low, “That would be acceptable, Hermione.”

 _Hermione._   How did Severus roll the syllables like that?  Why did Hermione like the way it sounded, her pretentious highbrow name, when it was his voice saying it?  Gods, she really wasn’t doing herself any favors in ignoring her growing feelings for him. Why did she ask to call him by his given name?  Now she’d be tormented by his physical voice instead of just her private thoughts. Hermione wobbled, her head fuzzy.

Severus’ hand hovered near her. “Allow me to assist you to the sofa.” 

Against her former long-forgotten better judgment, as she walked beside him flanked on his proffered chivalrous elbow, and their dishes floating domestically behind them, Hermione finally conceded that perhaps her romantic feelings about her partner were wildly out of her control. Hermione felt she was truly and utterly sunk.  Because there was absolutely nothing she would be able to do about it since the chance of Severus sharing her feelings would be slim to none. 

 _Fuck,_ Hermione thought. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take heed of the CW in tags if it pertains to you. Again, it's a small mention. But a mention all the same.

After they finished eating, Hermione began flipping through the papers Snape brought from the office.  When she had expressed concern about his quick return to work, Severus had brushed her off. Hermione supposed it was only natural for someone else who took pride in the work; if the roles were reversed she knew she’d probably have done the same.

“What is this?” she asked picking up a sheet she didn’t recognize despite it being in Snape’s spiky script.  She skimmed the first few lines. They were his clinical observations regarding his reaction to the Veil.

Hermione turned towards him but he spoke first, “If you’re up to it, I’d appreciate your perspective. You’re the only other witness.”

“It was… terrifying...”  Hermione trailed off and shuddered.  She wanted to tell Severus, _I almost lost you_.  But she kept it to herself, guarding it.  After all, their relationship wasn’t intimate, it was only professional.  Snape wasn’t really hers to lose. No matter how much Hermione was starting to accept that she wanted him.  

Best not to lay it all on the line right now, Hermione reasoned.  Had Severus even given her any reason to believe his feelings may have been growing for her as hers had grown for him?  There were a few glances or touches, Hermione supposed. If she hadn’t imagined them or built them up in her head to be something else, that is.  Snape had been fearful in that hallway yesterday though, wasn’t he? But was that because of the situation or had he been scared for - or about - her?  

Hermione realized her frame of mind couldn’t be counted on being completely reliable, her feelings of attraction were certainly beginning to cloud a lot of her perceptions. 

Snape interrupted her internal musings by leaning into her space slightly.  His voice rumbled deeply beside her, “If it was anyone else, I’d have surely died.  You are an incredibly powerful witch, Hermione.”

She could have almost sworn she heard a trace of reverence in his voice, but she was growing tired, and it could be an easy mistake to make.  “You would have done the same for me.”

Severus regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before beginning to sort some of the papers frivolously on her coffee table.  “There may even be a life debt in place now.”

Skeptical, Hermione looked over at him.  “You mean it’s not something you just know… something you can feel?”

“Not usually,” he muttered.  “It’s more something that is just assumed.”

“But when you protected Harry -”

Annoyed but gentle, Severus cut her off, “You mean when I was doing the honorable and decent thing rather than letting a  _child_ die time and time again?”  He leaned back into the corner of her couch, arm slung over the back.

Hermione conceded, “Fair point.”  She paused for a second. “Is there anything I can do about it?” 

“No.  But we’d get confirmation if I’m ever compelled to save your life in the future.”

“Which would be the honorable and decent thing to do anyway, of course.”

Snape began to look bored, but she began to see it for what it really was, a mask to hide his feelings.  “Yes, that is usually how life-saving acts are perceived.”

Hermione huffed, “I don’t like the idea of you possibly being indebted to me but I think it’s a small inconvenience given the alternative.”

He looked at his fingernails.  “It would seem we’re in agreement.”

When Severus’ eyes flicked up to hers, she smiled at him.  The corner of his mouth upturned slightly in return.

Feeling her face flush, Hermione looked down at his notes.  A warm fuzzy feeling began to settle in her belly. She realized she liked making him smile, that small little smirk that was uniquely his.  It was such a simple gesture, not grandiose at all, and it felt intimate to not only see it but to be the reason for it.  

She took a sip of water before continuing, “Right, the Veil.  First, why do you suppose the perpetrator had that be where the door led?”

“Lack of a body, for one.  And it would take its victims silently, correct?”

Remembering back to her previous experience in the Death Chamber Hermione agreed, “I think you’re right.  It’s a devious and cruel way to go though. How do you think they even managed it?”

Severus waved his hand dismissively.  “The original spell, incantation, or otherwise dark magic ritual is over two-hundred years old.  Probably created by this one individual for one nefarious purpose. I wouldn’t even begin to guess.  Although,” he thought for a moment. “We really should tell MacGille that the Chamber needs an extra level of wards to stop this from happening again.”

She nodded and then asked, “Have you ever met any of the Unspeakables who work in the Chamber?  I don’t think I have.”

He snorted.  “From what I understand, you didn’t even know that I’ve been in the department for the last seven years until just last week.”

“Seven years?” Hermione sputtered, blinking rapidly. 

Snape gave a confident shrug.

Shaking off the shock she said, “Right, uh, back to the Veil again.  I obviously didn’t have the same reaction to it as you did.”

Severus cleared his throat as he tweaked the buttons on his cuff.  “I haven’t been able to decipher why.”

“It’s strange,” Hermione said running her hands through her hair.  “I’m a different person than when I was sixteen but yet I had the same reaction as I did then.  Which was…” She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Who else was with you the first time?”

“Harry, Neville, and Luna all said they could hear voices coming from the Veil.  Ginny said she did too but she was young and impressionable. I find her statement unreliable.  Ron’s reaction was the same as mine.”

“So, what -”

Hermione gasped, running over Snape’s question, “They all lost parents.”  She turned to him, excited at putting the pieces together. “They all experienced the death of an immediate family member.” 

Severus’ brow furrowed.  “Mr. Longbottom’s parents aren’t deceased.”

“No,” she scratched her cheek.  “But his grandfather died. Given the circumstances, his grandparents are essentially his parents.”

“A valid theory,” he said slowly, before studying her bookcase over her shoulder, avoiding eye contact.

“Severus,” Hermione leaned back to be in his vision.  “Are your parents still alive? Any siblings?”

He growled, “It’s all in that damnable book.”

“I don’t give much business to unauthorized biographies.”

Severus cocked an eyebrow.

“They’re often riddled with inaccuracies, as I’ve been told.”  And then pointedly Hermione said, “You’re evading the question.”

Snape sighed heavily cutting her a glance before looking away again and then began to fidget with the buttons on his neck.  His answer was terse, “My mother died thirty years ago.” After a small pause, he continued, “I do not know the whereabouts of my father.  As far as I know, I’m the last of my line.”

“My parents, my only immediate family, are still living.  This has to be it,” Hermione slapped his notes triumphantly on the table.  “It's similar to Thestrals isn’t? But instead of just any death the Veil only affects those who have grieved the loss of a close family member.”

“It would explain how Crowdy was susceptible to it,” he said.  “He lost a child only a few months before.”

Hermione murmured, “Yes, and I think the person who created the door was fully aware of that too.”

She was silent for several minutes as she finished looking over Snape’s outline of events with the Veil.  Severus’ Occlumency barriers had been broken without him realizing it and when his consciousness had begun to realize that something was wrong, it was almost too late.  There had been an overwhelming compulsion to move forward into the void. Severus had likened it to how it felt to be imperiused, as she theorized.  

Hermione pointed to a line further down.  “You could hear me when I was trying to pull you back?”

“Yes.”  He took a drink of water.  “You sounded like only a murmur.  Hardly there but just on the very edge of my consciousness.  But the allure of the Veil was very strong. I didn’t break free of its influence until you made it physically impossible to move forward.”

“Oh, Severus,” she sighed.  “Crowdy really didn’t stand a chance, did he?”

“No.”  Snape swirled the liquid in his glass.  “He did not.”

Hermione stretched her arms above her head, trying to loosen her stiff shoulders and neck.  She yawned despite her best attempts to stifle it. “I’m sorry,” she said covering her mouth.  “I’m -”

He put his glass down and began to stack the papers.  “I shouldn’t have kept you up like this after yesterday.”

She began to gather their plates.  “It’s actually…” She glanced over to him.  “It’s been well, pleasant. It’s usually just me here alone.”

“I thought you had a ginger-haired menace often underfoot?”

Her brain tripped.  The only ginger-haired _anything_ that sprang to mind was Ronald Weasley.  And surely Snape hadn’t meant him. Hermione’s brain was obviously beginning to slow down after a tiring few days. 

“Forgive me,” Severus said softly.  “Considering Kneazles can live for more than two decades, I assumed he was still living.”

“Oh,” Hermione blushed at her mistake.  “You meant Crookshanks! He’s actually… with my parents in Australia.”  

Acknowledging the absence of her entire beloved family combined with the emotional strain of the last few days suddenly and inexplicably made Hermione’s world feel extremely unbearable.  It was pitiful really, Hermione thought, she had made the decision to send her parents away a decade ago. She was supposed to be beyond this regret she felt so heavily.  

“Hermione?” Severus asked gently.

“I - I’m sorry,” she sniffed.  “It’s a sore subject, my parents.”  Hermione gasped back a sob. “They’ve been gone since I was seventeen.”

“Gone?  You said they were still living.”

“Yes, but they’ve been _gone_.”  She heaved, tears suddenly falling.  “I did an awful thing.”

“No,” Snape hushed, sliding closer to her.  “You couldn’t have.”

“Oh, but I did.”  Hermione shuddered as she cradled her head in her hands.  “Before I spent that god-awful year horcrux hunting I - I - I -” she blubbered.  She grit her teeth in an attempt to get control over her quivering and then spat out, “I _obliviated_ them.”

He was right next to her now and whispered, “Hermione -”

“ _No_ ,” Hermione whispered harshly.  “Don’t tell me I did the right thing.  I erased _every_ , and I mean _every_ , memory they ever had of me.”

“Look at me.”  Hermione thought she imagined it, some kind of trick of the ear in between her sobbing.  But then Severus gently grasped her chin and turned her head. He was close, so close. “You did what you had to.  War… war forces us to make choices we’d never consider otherwise.” Severus’ thumb circled a spot on her jaw. “Your parents _were_ under surveillance, Hermione.  Voldemort just assumed it was bad luck that they had moved before he could send for them.  He had underestimated your intelligence in thinking ahead.” He swept tears off her cheek. “They’re _alive_ because of you.”

Hermione sniffed and dried her face on her robe’s sleeve.  “I miss them. I miss them so terribly. Every holiday.  Every birthday. Small things like passing a cinema playing a film with one of my mum’s favorite actors, or the type of dish soap they’d buy, the flowers that were kept in the garden, chocolate croissants for breakfast every Sunday…” to her great embarrassment a large wet sob escaped her again. 

Severus was murmuring something next to her ear, but Hermione couldn’t hear what he was saying over her blubbering.  She grabbed for him and when Severus pulled her into his chest Hermione melted into him desperate for comfort. 

 

\---

 

Earlier at the ministry, Severus had found that he missed Granger’s presence greatly.  There were no honey-golden curls loitering just outside his periphery and no wafts of steam from her ridiculous endless coffee drinking.  Severus had hoped she’d show halfway through the day. Revealing what lay beyond the door had been a big break in their assignment and he knew that if Granger was well enough, she’d have come to assist in writing up their report.  But as the hours stretched, Severus’ anxiety had grown.  

By the end of the day his nervous energy had completely consumed him.  Questions had been flying through his head and he couldn’t concentrate on their work: Had anyone checked in on her since yesterday? Should he have insisted on escorting her to the medistation rather than allowing Potter to do it?  Potter wouldn’t have just left her at her doorstep to fend for herself afterward, right? It wasn’t that Severus was upset because he had felt anything more than a professional kinship for her.  Granger was his partner, and partners tend to grow fond of each other after some time. Severus had tried to convince himself that’s all it was. 

When Potter had finally dropped by to see if Severus had anything he wanted to pass on to Hermione, he persuaded Potter to allow him to take his place.  It wasn’t an imposition, Severus had said. Granger was his partner and checking on her really should be his responsibility, he had insisted. Then, as a last resort, the zinger: You have a very pregnant wife at home, Severus had reminded.  Incredulously, after a short pause, almost like the younger man had expected it all along, Potter joyfully pushed the takeaway bag into his arms. Then, irritatingly, had Severus repeat Granger’s address three times just to make sure he had it right.

He wasn’t going to stay long, Severus had told himself.  Despite his anxiety and his desire to see her, Ganger had just endured a very traumatic event.  He wasn’t going to impose on her any more than he had any right to. Granger wasn’t his partner in anything more than work.  If they were romantically involved, perhaps… but they weren’t, so he wouldn’t.

But then when Granger opened her door Severus had lost his breath for just a moment.  She had looked so beautiful. Granger’s luscious thick hair had fallen loose, her face had the soft, warm look of being freshly washed, her mouth opened in delectable surprise, her eyes had warmed his body as they danced over him, and then Granger had cinched her robe at her perfect waist, and _Merlin_ , if Severus were a braver man he would have kissed her right then.

But the doubt had festered immediately.  Had Granger given him any real indication over the last several days that she felt anything for him?  And if he was wrong that surely would mean an end to their professional relationship. This was one of the most satisfying partnerships Severus has ever had.  Deep down he was a selfish man, he didn’t want to give this up. Severus resisted the urge to run his hands down her and instead had hurried past her to her kitchen to avoid it altogether.

And now Severus was here, and they were alone, and he felt more like a fool than he had in a long time.  He was almost two decades her senior. He had been her teacher. Severus had shouldered so much through the last several decades… he was still unpacking his own baggage, he couldn’t pass that to Granger.  Severus refused to be a project.

And yet, his body thrummed in her presence.  Severus felt, for lack of a better phrase, _absolutely fucked_.

His damnable hands began to work on their own, without his input and started to set out two place settings for dinner.  Then, Granger mentioned that she had spilled tea on herself and _Muldoon’s Cock_ Severus just managed to contain his panic at her getting hurt. Again.  Next, he mindlessly opened Granger’s robe and cast magic on her without gaining her permission and if the floor could have swallowed him up right there, Severus would have welcomed it.

Then, immediately after she casually dismissed his blunder, Granger asked if she could call him Severus, and his entire body reacted in a way he didn’t completely anticipate.  Severus wanted to hear his name again, to hear it whispered against his ear, work Hermione up into a shuddering mess and have her hiss it out as he… 

It only took him a moment, but Severus wrestled this reaction down - deep, deep, down.  

Thankfully, dinner was absolutely delightful and he didn’t feel as if he cocked it up too much.  Granger asked him point-blank if he had read an interesting article in the latest _International Journal of Potioneers_.  It outlined how to brew Skele-Gro in a way that lessened the pain of the drinker.  Mischievously, Hermione then asked if he was maybe a distant relative of the author, T. Prince.  Severus genuinely wasn’t surprised she had figured him out. But he was elated when she asked him why he chose to incorporate Boswellia rather than White Willow Bark considering Boswellia’s native range was halfway across the world.

During their conversation about the Veil, their minds circled rather than competed.  Each of them continually built the next level of scaffolding until they - _she_ \- had come to a very convincing theory as to how the Veil operates.  He’d send a memo to the Chamberers tomorrow to ask for verification but he would bet his dragonhide boots she was correct.  To think as to how her mind would have been wasted in her former department. It would have been a travesty.

Finally, as Severus reluctantly began to clean up for the evening, he asked an innocent question about Granger’s former feline familiar and she reacted in a way he didn’t predict. But it was obvious to him as to what was really happening; Severus had been a House Head in the distant past. He often had to pilfer Minerva’s Ginger Newts in addition to hoarding a supply of fresh handkerchiefs for the perpetually rotating door his office became for stressed adolescents at exam time.  Severus knew what a stress-induced meltdown looked like. Hermione had clearly carried this burden for years, and while she had probably repressed it into a tightly wound mess she usually ignored, the emotional toll of the last day had pushed her over the edge.  

Severus only meant to whisper reassurances in her ear, maybe hold her hand, but when Hermione grabbed for him - gripping his shirt tightly in her hands, tugging it taut across his back - he pulled her into his chest.  Severus’ hands danced across her back and by this point he wasn’t even sure what he was whispering. He just wanted her to find relief. When Granger stilled and became silent, he looked down at her to find that she had literally cried herself to sleep.

Severus slowly shifted back into the corner of the couch and then positioned her beside him.   And then, wordlessly as to not disturb her, he lit the fire, dimmed her lights, and summoned a random book from her shelf.  While he hadn’t meant to stay… Severus didn’t want to leave. This level of intimacy was intoxicating. The two of them nestled together in front of a fire, after an evening of discussion over good food.  And now that he was getting a peek of it, he wanted it. Severus wanted it with this witch. He wanted Hermione to want him too. But does she? And if she doesn’t, would she ever?

Later, that is how MacGille found them when his head popped into existence in the floo:  Severus’ feet propped up on the coffee table, face obscured by a book, his other arm flung over the back of the sofa, and Hermione’s body pressed deeply into his side. 

Surprised, MacGille only managed to exhale a soft, “Oh.”

At the intrusive sound, Severus snapped the book closed.  “MacGille,” he droned, appearing bored. He purposefully arranged a mask of indifference over his face but inside… inside he lurched in a small panic imagining how this looked.  Severus should have gone. He should have moved Hermione to her bed and left. He shouldn’t have stayed.

Their boss stammered,  “I - how - is she alright?”

“Why yes, she’s just the epitome of recovered, can’t you tell?”

“Snape -”

Growing frustrated, Severus sighed heavily.  “She’s overtired and overworked, MacGille. What do you expect?”

“Right. And you’re -”

“Her _partner_ ,” he bit out as if that explained practically everything.  “Unless you’re reassigning me.” The smoldering ember of panic suddenly bloomed and he fought against the urge to adjust a row of buttons.

Severus felt her stir slightly next to him. He winced, he didn’t want her to wake.  She’d move away then, and he’d miss the feel of her body wedged against his. It’s not like this would ever happen again.

The reply from MacGille came quickly, “No, no, never.”  Severus’ shoulders sagged minutely in relief. And then, “I flooed because I wanted her to know that we were able to vanquish the door.  It took a few tries but the team was successful. We even checked the new blueprint to make sure, it’s gone.”

Severus nodded.  “It would have been irresponsible to leave it, all things considered.”

“Right. Well, I’ll leave you then.  Let her know she can take as much time off as she needs.”  And then he was gone.

Severus sat very still for several long seconds.  He knew Hermione had woken up. Yet, if he didn’t acknowledge her, he’d be able to continue to feel her tucked up against him.  Resistant, he looked down at her. She was looking up at him through her impossibly long eyelashes. Hermione’s face was flushed and soft with sleep.  Feeling his body rapidly surge into appreciation, Severus shifted and helped her to sit up.

“Was that MacGille?” Hermione whispered.

“Yes, he wanted to assure you that the door has been taken care of.”

She rubbed her eyes with one hand. “What time is it?”

Severus glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Almost eleven.” He asked, and a little jealousy seeped out that surprised him, “Does he often call on you this late?”  

“Oh, occasionally.”  Granger flipped her hand dismissively.  “Especially about the more involved assignments.”  She yawned then. “I’m sorry -”

“No,” Severus murmured.  “I have stayed far past what is appropriate.”

She whispered back, “I appreciate that you stayed, actually.”  

Severus gave her a small smile even though he couldn’t be absolutely sure of her intentions behind that statement: whether Hermione had said it out of politeness or if she did actually like that he had stayed.  He began to exchange the book for their notes when Hermione reached out to his wrist.

“Please take the book, if it interests you I mean.  You can return it to me later.”

“I will.”  When Hermione began to get up he gently admonished her, “Stay.  I will let myself out.”

Severus summoned their notes and they stacked obediently on his outstretched palm.  He reluctantly walked to her door; _gods_ he wanted to stay.  Severus turned back to her, his hand resting on the doorknob.  The flickering flames from the hearth danced across Hermione’s skin, emphasizing her softness, making her hair blaze like a halo, and tricking him into thinking she could very well be an ethereal being sent to Earth to torture him.  

Hermione was so intelligent, so feisty, full of surprises, and so beautiful.  Severus had no chance in hell that she would ever return his feelings.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he whispered to her across the room.

Severus closed the door behind him but kept his hand on the doorknob for at least half a minute.  Something in his chest twisted at the idea of leaving. Severus really wanted to stay. To open the door, cross over to Hermione, push her into her couch with his body, and confess all his desires to her.  Shame coldly washed over him then. Severus felt lecherous. He let go of the doorknob as if it had burned him.

He was an old wizard.   He used to be her teacher.  The age gap alone would invite gossip, nevermind his infamous past.  Severus was a fool.

But even then, in the midst of his warring mind, he cast a set of his wards on her flat.  Granger was still his partner, he reasoned. And knowing that she was safe would have to be enough for him. If that was all that would be allowed of him, Severus was going to selfishly take it.  

Severus fled - disapparated - before he allowed himself to change his mind.

 

\---

 

Hermione only took off a half-day on Wednesday, coming in just after the lunch hour.  She felt better, a little fatigued admittedly; but better enough to work, granted there would be no more confrontations with magical entities.  And to make absolutely sure of that herself she was currently walking down the third-floor hallway.

She knew, on an intellectual level, that the door wasn’t there anymore.  MacGille had said as much, she had heard him, as she lay next to Severus on her sofa.  Just as she had heard Severus’ voice tremble when he had asked if he was to be reassigned, if their partnership were to be dissolved.  Hermione thought she could have imagined his tone, she had been half asleep still, but then she had felt his infinitesimal sag of relief when MacGille had said: “no, never”.

No.  Never.  

 _Never_.

Severus had a very real response to that word, she felt it, she knew she had.  Just as Hermione had felt his fear two days ago. She didn’t imagine it, couldn’t easily explain it away, not this time.  

And then, before he left with her book and notes tucked in his arm, Severus had looked back at her.  His eyes glistening in the firelight, and the flames dancing over his pale skin. And there had been a part of her, well, maybe a few parts of her, that had wanted him to stay.  Maybe only just to have him return to her sofa to reclaim the corner. And maybe have a proper nightcap. And maybe then she’d ghost her fingers across Severus’ face, straddle his thighs, press herself flush against him, clutch his hair, and…  But then he clicked her door close.  

Hermione had sat dumbly on her sofa for a minute before she felt his wards _swoosh_ through her flat.  She knew they were the reason she had slept so soundly last night.  Hermione hadn’t even experienced the nightmares that often came after she wrestled with the guilt of obliviating her family. 

Was it… was it possible that he had begun to feel _feelings_ for her?  Like she had for him?

Severus had that reaction to _never_ , hadn’t he?

Hermione stopped in front of where the door used to be.  The wall was bare; you’d never know it had ever been there.  Suddenly, Hermione experienced a flash of Severus bound by her magic, being pulled backward, her scream echoing in her head.  She pushed down the tendrils of panic.  

 _No_ , Hermione reminded herself. _He’s safe. The door is gone._

She teetered.

A soft hand wrapped around her upper arm and she flinched involuntarily.

“Oh, Ms. Granger,” Saunders greeted concerned, hands up in front of his chest.  “I apologize. You just looked as if you were about to faint. Would you like a cuppa?”

“Oh,” Hermione breathed.  “I think I should sit down, yes.”

After leading her to his office, Hermione sat in the same chair she did exactly one week before.  Saunders bustled behind his desk, preparing a tea service. While her office was evidently somehow capable of tightly squeezing in two desks, his office barely fit his one desk as it was.  Saunders’ one desk and two chairs for visitors were all practically touching each other. And other than a very thin, very wobbly looking sideboard behind his desk he didn’t appear to have any storage.  Endearingly, he had attempted to spruce up his hole-of-an-office by adding a colorful rug and a small singular framed painting of a wizard hanging above the sideboard.

Saunders hummed a ditty as he shuffled some papers, making a tidy pile on the side of his desk, allowing room for their tea.  He didn’t seem to have any proper storage for anything beyond a very ornate tea set. Saunders had somehow found happiness here in this dank little hole; having just enough work to keep his position relevant while at the same time enjoying having too little work to actually do. 

Hermione quietly said her thanks when he offered her a cup.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

“Marginally,” was her reply as her eyes flickered in and out of focus.

Saunders nodded.  “Your partner did the same thing this morning, you know.”

This caught her attention.  “Pardon?”

“He was standing in the hallway staring at where the door used to be.  Just as I found you just now.”

“Oh.”

With a hint of rejection Saunders said, “He refused my offer of tea, though.”

“He’s not much of a tea drinker, I’m afraid,” Hermione said lamely, sure it was a falsehood.

He began, “Oh? Does he -”

In an effort to deflect away from Severus, she read off from the top paper on his desk, “Barbados Wizarding Retirement Community?”  She picked it up. “Are you retiring?”

He laughed.  “No, but I think Theophilus wants me to.  He sends these to me from time to time.” Saunders plucked the paper from her and looked it over.  “Besides,” he grimaced, “I’m not much of a beach person.” Saunders dropped the flyer on his desk as if it were slimy. 

Something niggled at her.  “Theophilus?”

“Liddet.  He’s on the Excuses committee, but his permanent position is in the Transportation Department.  Maybe you’ve crossed paths before?”

“Perhaps,” Hermione drifted off.  

Saunders continued prattling on about something, but she wasn’t listening.  Something was bothering her. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Something about the name Theophilus, she knew that much, but what exactly she was trying to piece together, she wasn’t sure.

She needed to talk to Severus.

Hermione rushed out another thanks for the tea, cutting off Saunders mid-sentence, and then fled.  As she rushed down the hallway to the lift all Hermione could think of was returning to their office and the man she hoped was there.

 

\---

 

“Granger!” MacGille barked as she rushed past his office on the way to theirs. Hermione could see that their door was open, Severus had to be in there. 

She turned over her shoulder and said, “Sir,” but otherwise kept moving forward. 

“Granger!”  MacGille had moved into the hall.  “What are you doing back? I said to take time off.”

Hermione turned completely around to face her boss but continued to walk backwards down the hall. Annoyed, she said, “Sir, I’d love to stay for a chat, but I really do have work to do.”

“ _Granger_ -”

She spun and jogged the last few steps to their office.  Hermione felt the comforting familiar buzz of her partner’s wards bleeding out into the hallway.  Turning into the doorway she almost ran into Severus who looked like he was on his way out. 

The only thing off-kilter on his otherwise usual mask of indifference was that the line between his brows was more pronounced.  Severus had been worried, Hermione realized. He had been worried about _her_. 

Severus backed up instinctively as she stepped completely into their office to grab hold of the door.  She shut it loudly behind her, pressing her back against it. 

“Severus,” Hermione exhaled.  “Enhance the wards.”

He did so immediately, not even asking why, and she felt them somehow grow heavier. _Just how does he do that_ , Hermione wondered.

His hands hovered near her, but not quite touching her.  “Are you alright?”

“Something is bothering me.”

He stilled.  “Yes?”

“Theophilus.”

“Liddet, in the Transportation Department,” came the automatic reply. 

“You know him?”

“Not personally.  But you don’t forget a name like Theophilus.”

“I’ve come across this name before.  I know I have. Recently.”

“Are you certain?”

Annoyed, Hermione parroted, mimicking Severus’ baritone, “You don’t forget a name like Theophilus.”  And then in her normal register, she continued, “I need to use the pensive.”

“It has a design flaw, I’m afraid.”

“And that would be?” Hermione asked, struggling to keep her voice even. 

“It only works if you know which memory to retrieve.”

“Just because I don’t know that _now_ , doesn’t mean I won’t _later_.”

Severus’ lips twitched. 

She looked up at him.  “You know, I think you goad me on purpose because you find it fun.”

He smirked slowly.  Severus placed a hand on the door above her shoulder and leaned in slightly. “Now, that doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

Hermione began to respond but was cut off by a memo popping loudly into existence behind Severus. Neither broke eye contact to look at it. 

Which was just as well since the memo read itself out loud in MacGille’s annoyed voice, “You two. My office. Now.”

“It sounds as if we’re in trouble,” Severus drawled. 

Hermione’s voice was low as she said, “Since when have I not been trouble?”

The timbre of his voice dropped as well, “You’ve always been trouble, Hermione.  And I’d be a fool to stop you now.”

Figuring she’d never have a better segue Hermione gathered her courage.  Remembering Severus’ relief at _never_ , Hermione licked her bottom lip, grasped his collar, and pulled his head down further.  

Severus’ eyes widened, and he slapped his other hand on the door beside her head.  He steadied himself, not allowing them to come together just yet. Hermione lowered her hands.

“Are you sure?” Severus whispered, hesitating. 

Her answer was assertive, “Yes.”

He shook his head looking away from her, “I - I am certainly not deserving of -”

“Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence,” Hermione said dangerously. “You’re just as deserving of happiness as everyone else.  Your self-diagnosed sins don’t define you.”

“I have a tendency to put my work first.  I can be possessive and unkind.”

She scoffed.  "As if no one has used those words to describe me before.”

“There would be gossip.”

“When is there not?”

“I -”

“Severus,” Hermione interrupted.  “Tell me the truth. Do you _want_ me?”

He had been looking down at the space between them.  At her question Severus finally looked at her again. He seemed to calculate her intentions, his eyes roaming over her face.  When Severus answered, his voice was soft, almost a whine, “ _Yes_.”

“Then shut up already and kiss me.”

Severus’ mouth upturned slightly and he readjusted his weight.  “Are you always going to be this bossy?”

“Oh, I have a feeling you won’t complain very much,” Hermione purred. 

“Vixen,” Severus chuckled, finally dipping his head lower.

But then - _CRACK_ \- MacGille’s voice once again immediately echoed around the room from yet another infuriating memo, “ _It wasn’t a suggestion!_ ”

Frustrated, Hermione looked up at the ceiling and growled, “Great bloody bollocks!” 

Severus hastily turned completely away from her but not before Hermione caught his low mutter of “ _Bastard_.”  Exasperated, Severus turned back and gestured to the hall behind her as he bit out, “Right, fine, let’s get this over with.”

As they marched down the hall Hermione thought that if Severus didn’t kill MacGille, she just might.


	8. Chapter 8

Lachlann MacGille had the distinct feeling he had interrupted something mighty important with his memos.  His Unspeakables had sat across from him and immediately began to glower at him. Yet, every so often they were not making eye contact with each other, per se, but more like peeking at the other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.  Lachlann thought it strange, but strange was part of the game when working within the Mysteries. 

It wasn’t like he enjoyed sending harsh memos to his employees to begin with.  His people did best without a lot of needless overhead interference.  But these two were really getting out of line.  Lachlann had never been dismissed by his employees more than he has been by these two over a period of just one week. Snape could be somewhat forgiven for it; he always did better working in isolation on B2.  But Granger… she used to at least ask him how his day was.  

“Just what is going on with you two?” he finally asked.

Silence.

 _Well fine_ , Lachlann thought.  Three could play this game.  He leaned back in his chair, interlacing his hands over his waist.  Oh yes, this would be easy, he assured himself.  

Snape looked casually disinterested and picked some lint off his sleeve.  Granger sat stiffy in her chair, angled away from Snape.  Granger, well, she’d break.  Lachlann knew it.  If he knew anything about Granger it was that she filled silences.  

The silence stretched.

Lachlann fidgeted, straightening up in his chair just to lean back again.  He adjusted a pen that was laying on top of his desk. The internal fight was strong.  He must not speak first.  Lachlann refused.  He was the Head of the Department of Mysteries, for Merlin’s sake.  

As if on some unspoken cue, both Unspeakables re-adjusted themselves in their seats.  They were in it for the long haul.  

Lachlann cast his eyes upward.  _Blast those damnable quarterly meetings!_ They had inadvertently trained his employees too well to endure long periods of sitting in uncomfortable chairs while listening quietly and feigning interest to mind-numbing presentations.  

Then suddenly, Lachlann remembered the conversation with Snape last night through Granger’s fireplace.  If it were any other pair he might have thought that he had interrupted something private.  But the two of them… together?  He wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.  Although, Snape did seem quite interested in if they were to be reassigned.  Could he use that to his advantage here?

Lachlann suddenly sat straight in his chair.  Pointedly not looking at his charges he slipped on his glasses and then reached for his magically-expanded accordion file of active assignments.  He slowly fanned through it. Lachlann pulled out the door’s assignment paperwork and lay it squarely centered on his desk.  Next, he turned towards the empty wall to his left and lazily waved his wand.  The employee roster of Unspeakables for the main floor appeared in the blank space.  Lachlann rubbed his chin thoughtfully for several moments.  

He exhaled a breath, as if he had solved an incredibly vexing problem.  

Then, Lachlann turned back to his desk to begin writing at the bottom of the assignment’s paperwork.  He flicked his free hand at the employee roster.  Granger and Snape’s assignment pins began to shift.  

And suddenly, both parties in front of Lachlann's desk regained their voices at the same time.

Granger blanched.  “What are you doing?”

While at the same time Snape spat, “What the hell are you playing at?”

The pins stopped moving.  Lachlann looked up innocently, acting surprised.  “Oh? Well, I took your silence to mean that you both were unhappy in your current assignment.”

Granger shook her head.

Snape said, “You’d be mistaken.”

“Really?  You two don’t appear happy.  I can’t afford to have two of my most high-yielding Unspeakables languish.  I will move Fox and Gibson to take over and you two can go back to your previous assignments.”  As Lachlann finished, he swatted the air and said, “I won’t even keep you to the provision of training new recruits.”

“That isn’t really necessary -” Snape began.

“Yes, this partnership is very… _effective_.” 

“How so?” 

Granger continued, “Well… I think I have a name.”  When Lachlann raised his eyebrows she rushed on, stumbling over her words.  “For something. That is, I’m not sure what exactly the name has to do with it.  But it’s bothering me. And you know how pestering that is to me. And I think -”

“What she means to say,” Snape cut in, “is that we may be reaching the conclusion of this assignment.  Given more time.”  He finished, placing great emphasis on the last word, “ _Together_.”

“And you’d be happy with that arrangement, would you?” 

Snape nodded curtly, while Granger’s nod was just a bit more enthusiastic.  

“Good,” Lachlann said.  He swept his hand towards the roster and the pins slid back to their previous positions.  He caught the relief filter over both of their faces.

Inordinately pleased with himself, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.  “Tell me about this name. One of your working theories was generational magic being at play, right?  Meaning both people who summoned the door are from the same family?  Is this name either the past perpetrator or the present?”

“It’s a _name_ ,” Granger said vaguely.  “I believe I have come across the name before but I can’t place it.”

Lachlann wasn't particularly surprised or annoyed by her nebulose answer.  This was a common occurrence when working with Granger.  She always kept her suspicions close to her chest until she could confirm them.  He redirected his attention to the assignment’s paperwork, flipping several pages over to read through their updates.  “You recently worked through a large backlog of Auror records.  Do you think it was there?”

“Maybe,” Granger said weirdly.  As if her brain was twirling out of control, leading her down one of her thought threads.  

Lachlann flipped up some papers on his desk to find the Department’s Pensive Schedule.  “The Pensive is free for the rest of the afternoon.”

“How convenient,” Snape said with an edge to his voice.  

Lachlann looked up.  It was obvious that Snape had caught on to his game of deception via threatening an assignment change.  The glower was definitely more direct now but at least everyone was talking again. He reminded himself to celebrate one small victory at a time.

He left the papers scattered on his desk as he swiveled around in his chair.  Lachlann flicked through several memos laying on the back table before turning back again.  He caught his two Unspeakables leaning very close together whispering harshly to each other.  They parted quickly when they realized he was facing them again.  

Lachlann cleared his throat as he waved a neon green memo in the air.  “Well, I hope you really do have a lead to wrap this up. Because we’re under some pressure now.”

Both Unspeakables eyed the memo from the Minister wearily.

Lachlann continued, “You two have determined that the door was initially used to assassinate a Minister for Magic.  Once you conclude everything I’m going to do my damndest to keep most of the file classified. But because of the victim, _something_ will have to go to the press.”

Snape and Granger twisted uncomfortably in their chairs.  

“I don’t like it any more than you two do.  But we may be able to spin it into something appropriate.  But only if you actually solve the damn thing.  And soon.”

“Understood,” Snape said as he stood, chair screeching back across the floor.

“Yes, are we excused now, sir?” Granger asked, a bit too eagerly, as she did the same. 

Lachlann wanted to find a way to keep them longer, if only to vex them.  But he knew he had already pushed his luck this far.  

He dismissed them with a wave and said, “Yes, yes, you’re free to go.”  But they were gone before he was able to finish.  They had swirled out the door and their hurried pace retreated down the hall towards the Pensieve.  

Lachlann looked over at his employee roster.  On a whim, he moved their names and attached pins to the bottom, paired, one name in the row above the other.  Lachlann had a gut feeling this arrangement would work nicely for the foreseeable future.  They had already been together far longer than any other Unspeakable team, beating the old record after day four.  As far as something more than professional growing out of the arrangement, Lachlann was sort of curious to see if anything would actually develop.  

 

\---

 

When the pair arrived at the department’s Pensieve, there was a disagreement as to which memory to view first.  Severus wanted to look a little further back to their visit to the planning department before trampling through Hermione’s memories regarding the old Auror records.  Tempers were high and Hermione was half-convinced it was the fault of the rolling unresolved sexual tension being pulled taut between them.  

“It’s entirely possible you’re only remembering a planning inspector’s name.”

“I really think MacGille was on to something.  I went through dozens of files, there could have been a mention of a Theophilus in any of them.”

Severus was growing cross.  “Exactly, we could literally be hopping into hours of your memories going down that route.”

“Well,” Hermione said indignantly, “that is just a risk we’d have to take.”

Exasperated, Severus dug into one of his trouser’s pockets.  He plucked out a pound.  “Fine, let’s flip for it. Heads or tails?”

Incredulous, she asked, “You carry Muggle money?”

His mouth thinned in irritation.  “I am a Half-Blood, Granger.”

“Ah, yes,” Hermione paused and then hooked her bait, “A Half-Blood _Prince_ if I recall right.”

A vein popped up above one of Severus' eyebrows.  A satisfying thrill ran through Hermione at successfully taunting him, after he got away with doing the same to her so many times before.  She knew she was grinning like a crazed cat who got the cream, but quite frankly she didn’t care.  Severus had stepped right into that one.

His voice was rough, a strangle between a laugh and a growl, “ _Tails_.”

Severus then flipped the coin.  But before it could fall back into his palm, Hermione snatched it out of the air.

At his sputter of protest, Hermione tsked.  “I don’t believe you’re really in the right frame of mind to be trustworthy to let this fall without the aid of some magic.”

“You are testing me, Witch,” Severus grit out.  

“I apologize,” Hermione said with no sincerity.  “But winning a bet against a Slytherin is near impossible without some interference.”  She slapped the coin over the back of her hand.  The royal arms mockingly greeted her.  

“You were saying?” he drawled, getting his temper under control.

Hermione sighed heavily.  “This is a fool’s errand, why must you be so contrary?”

“If I’m wrong,” Severus stepped closer into her space forcing her to look up at him.  “You will have yet another entry for that private diary of yours.”

“It’ll  _almost_ be worth it.  If you weren’t such a giant git about it.”  Hermione gestured grandly behind her to the Pensieve.  “Your idea, your memory.”

He stepped around her, brushing her arm against his.  She rolled her eyes and followed him to the Pensieve.  Severus extracted the memory with a graceful twist of his wand and dropped it in the basin.  

His baritone washed over her, “Ready?”

She nodded as she gripped the basin.  They both stuck their heads into the cool liquid at the same time.

 

\---

 

Severus had chosen to start the memory just at the moment where she furiously turned to him and spat out, _“What - the - fuck - is - going - on, Snape?”_

As the scene played out in front of them, Hermione looked over at Elsa, who was gathering their documents.  The girl kept coyly looking back at Severus.  Unlike the first time, Hermione wretched loudly.  

Severus turned to her with a raised eyebrow, he had been watching their past selves’ exchange.  She waved him off.  

Hermione's irritation was growing.  Not only was this probably a fruitless exercise but now she had to relive this _teenager_ giving doe eyes to Severus.  This _child_ bounding over to them to take them back down the hall.  This _infant_ who -

“That Elsa sure is _perky_ , hmm?” Severus interrupted.

Her ire overflowing into her voice Hermione replied, “Yes, if you like that sort of thing, I suppose.”

Her temper spiked again at actually seeing the confirmation that Elsa had strutted down the hall in front of them.  Elsa's youthful narrow hips had swung salaciously side to side.  

They followed their past selves to the conference room.  Just as her past self had crossed the threshold Hermione saw Severus place his hand on her lower back to guide her inside.  Hermione stopped short.  She hadn’t imagined the ghost of his touch at all.  

Severus was close, just as close as he was when they were first in this hall, when he muttered lowly next to her ear, “No, I don’t think I do.”

He walked ahead of her, slipping in behind his former self as he had begun to edge Elsa out of the doorway.  

Hermione recovered quickly enough that she was able to slip in before Severus had slammed the door in Elsa’s eager face.  _Good riddance,_  she thought bitterly. 

They positioned themselves to the sides of their former selves to view the prints.  Hermione was certain that this wasn’t the name of a Planning Inspector, but just to play fair she caught the name of every single one as the pile diminished on her side.  When her past self slide over to take over for Severus, she chanced a glance at her partner.  

While his past self leaned against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose, his current self was intensely watching past Hermione as she had plucked one print after another off the stack.

Severus didn’t look away when he spoke to her, “You’re supposed to be looking at the names of the Inspectors.”

Caught out, Hermione huffed and returned to view the papers.  Her past self had just moved over 1783’s print. “And what are you looking at instead, exactly?”

She saw him shrug out of the corner of her eye, and heard a wisp of something seductive when he answered vaguely, “ _Other things_.”

Desire immediately bloomed within her and settled heavily in her lower abdomen.  Hermione felt heat through her entire body.  She was a flickering flame, lit from the embers that had been smoldering impatiently since they almost kissed in their office.  Goddamn this incendiary man - Severus knew what he was doing.  

However, Hermione was a little regretful she had initiated anything at all.  She should have waited until after they solved everything.  Because they were _supposed_ to be working now.  Hermione felt an immeasurable sense of duty to close this assignment; as Severus had indicated for himself, she too often felt the priority of work.  Yet, Severus was being deliberately deliciously distracting.  She just didn’t have the processing power to juggle these two things simultaneously right now. However, once they were free of this bloody pensieve maybe… _fuck_ MacGille and his infuriatingly interrupting memos.  If Hermione had to repeat this particular memory because she missed something, she was going to poison his tea, but only slightly. 

Suddenly, something caught her eye on the discarded print from 1783.  Hermione curved around their past selves, who were currently staring at the two prints from 1781.  

“See something?” Severus asked as she came to stand beside him.  

“Yes, and I’m almost sure you’d have seen it first if you could just _focus_.”  She leaned over the table a little, to get a closer look at the print.  When he didn’t move Hermione sighed heavily, “ _Cliodne’s tits,_  Severus, stop staring at my arse and help me.  You’ve seen a pair of jeans before, surely.”

Severus chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating off her back, as he leaned over to view the print.  “I will work on improving my…  _focus_.”

“Severus,” she breathed, her exasperation rising, “if I have to come back here because you distracted me and watch Elsa’s raunchy walk down the hall _one - more_ \- _time_...”  Hermione pointed to the print. “Look, the coat closet from 1781 was enlarged slightly to make an office for the Muggle Excuses Chairman.”

“And?” he drawled.

“That seems too coincidental, doesn’t?  To have Crowdy die literally in the neighboring door, albeit temporary, and then create an office space right next to it?”

He didn’t say anything, but his gaze kept flickering between the prints for 1781 and 1783.

“It would make sense, wouldn’t it?” Hermione pressed.  “Bureaucracy takes ages; petitions for change can take years.”

“Are you saying that you think the Excuses Chairman from 1781 orchestrated an assassination because he wanted an _office space_?”

“We all say we’d kill for a better office,” she said delicately.  “But not many of us are actually willing to do it.”

And then the Pensieve pushed them physically up out of the liquid as the memory ended.  They both took deep breaths and swayed at the bowl’s edge.

Hermione automatically brought her wand to her temple to extract her memory from Friday evening when she received the Auror files.

Severus began to ask, “Don’t you want to check -”

She rushed over him, afraid she was going to lose her momentum or worse: begin to snog him endlessly, “No time!”  Hermione pushed the memory into the liquid and grabbed Severus’ arm as she plunged back in.

 

\---

 

They swirled into their office space, just a few minutes before the files were due to come thundering in.  Severus' past self had just asked, _“How did your inquiries go?”_

Hermione walked across the room to position herself behind her desk, to better see the files she had interacted with.  

Her tunnel vision was so great that she barely caught her past self say, _“Only metaphorically at best.”_ and that is when Hermione remembered she came back too early in the memory.  Just a minute too early.  Because Severus had then said, _“Pity.”_ as if his voice had ignited, and sent the heat straight across the room to her.

Desire was a peculiar thing, Hermione realized.  She watched her internal struggle play out over her face.  She had done a decent job of hiding it, Hermione supposed, but with the gift of hindsight… this was the beginning of it all, wasn’t it?  When she first really started to… think - react - to her partner in a way that wasn’t quite professional.

Hermione's past self rushed on, focusing on the work rather than her feelings for her partner.  Her hyperfocus on her work and her work ethic have always been points of pride for her.  She desperately hoped that Severus really could appreciate that about her.  If he was like her former romantic partners... well, Hermione would already be back repeating the memory with Elsa, wouldn’t she?  

She was aware that Severus had stepped away from the far wall to stand just a little in front of her desk.  

When her past self had become still she looked at what had drawn her attention.  It was past Severus and his pale long fingers dancing across his buttons.  And then Severus had said something that she didn’t remember from before, his voice low and silky, _“Would you like to -”_ but he had been cut off by the files rumbling into existence around them.

Hermione wanted to question him on what he had meant to ask but time was of the essence.  Hundreds of these files were to be vanished back down to Central Bookkeeping in less than two minutes.  

As the column of files collapsed down the front of her desk, Severus knelt to read them as they slid open over her floor.

Hermione's past self then slapped open the first file.  And there it was just under the summarization of: _fist fight_ _in corridor over mouldy cheese smell,_ the list of people of interest: _Parry Cooke, Muggle Int'raction Offic'r_ and _Theophilus_ _Olyngworthe, Muggle Fetches Leadeth'r._

“Severus,” she breathed, a smile widening over her face.  “It’s here. Theophilus Olyngworthe.  He was the Muggle Excuses Committee Chairman.  He had a row with someone from the Muggle Liaison Office the morning the Minister died.”

He stood, a pillar of black in a sea of beige folders.  “Not a Liddet?” Severus asked.  The files fluttered around them as his past self-cast _Revelio._   

“No, but what are the odds that Theophilus is a family name?”  A laugh burst from her.  Hermione was giddy on the excitement of putting things together.  “The fight over the _‘mouldy cheese smell’_ could have been the last straw.  If he was incredibly desperate for his own space and if the Minister was too caught up in his own personal vendetta against pure-blood extremists…”

Severus finished, “He would have felt like he had no choice but to take matters into his own hands.  And Liddet, you think he was the one to summon the door last month?”

The files around them disappeared.  “Saunders has said the man has tried to pressure him to retire.  What if he was fed up in waiting?”  

“It would have certainly created an opening for Chairman.”

She looked over at him, satisfaction rolling off of her in waves.  “We did it, Severus.”

Severus began to step around her desk reaching out to her, and said, “No, you did.”

Euphoric, Hermione squealed.  Taking a step to join him, she reached out to grip his shirt’s collar.  Overcome with emotion, and finally free of her compulsion to see the Pensieve memories through to the end, Hermione pulled his head down to meet hers and she kissed him hard on the lips.  

And that was all it took.  

When she pulled back she saw that Severus’ dark eyes had somehow grown even darker with desire.  The heat Hermione felt earlier when they had revisited the Planning Department roared back to life.  

Gods, they had been dancing around each other all week.  Which had felt like months.  Which had felt like years.  Which had felt like a lifetime. 

“Witch,” Severus hissed as he gripped Hermione firmly around the waist and spun her to sit on the corner of his desk that his past self’s feet just vacated.  “Do you know,” Severus began to ask as he pressed into her space, forcing her legs to straddle his hips.  He ran his hooked nose up Hermione's neck to finish whispering in her ear, “Do you know how you undo me?”

She sucked in a breath, Hermione could feel his hardness through her jeans.  Severus' voice accomplished what he meant for it to do, to send a bolt of fire straight down past her stomach.  This explosive, electrifying passion was missing from all her previous relationships.  Everyone else Hermione had ever been intimate with was comfortable and safe.  But Severus… he had an edge, he could be dangerous, he could be her unraveling.  Severus could slice right through her with a look or a dark low murmur, and Hermione wanted him to.  To cleave her in two and have her beg for it.  

Hermione popped her hands over the buttons of his shirt before grabbing fistfuls of it to pull him closer, one side becoming untucked.  They really were already pressed right against each other, they couldn’t get any closer without removing clothing.  But she needed him to be closer.  Hermione needed to feel Severus along the entire length of her body, it was an overwhelming hunger she needed fed.

Severus chuckled.  “Is this what you like?” he asked as one hand cupped the back of her head and the other’s fingers ghosted against the skin under Hermione's shirt above her trouser's waistline.  “To be sat on my desk in our office?  Would you want a silencing charm or no?  How many people do you think I could make hear you scream?”

Hermione felt her entire body flush with anticipation.  One of her hands shot to Severus' shirt’s collar and she yanked it open, ripping off the top few buttons.  The fire within her was engulfing her, becoming feral and untamed.  Hermione was losing control.

He tsked, the sound rumbling down her neckline.

“You’re a wizard, you can fix -” was all Hermione managed to get out before he tilted her head to match his angle and slit his lips against hers.

She groaned, or he did.  Hermione couldn’t tell.  She didn’t care to figure it out.

Severus' mouth left a trail of fire as he kissed down her jaw and onto her neck.  All of Hermione's nerve endings buzzed alive.  She felt him everywhere.  She squeezed his narrow waist with her knees, interlocking her ankles behind him, anchoring him to her.  

“Not letting me go, are you?” Severus asked, his breath against her clavicle.  His hand beneath her shirt had crept up to her ribs.  “No second thoughts?” he asked low. 

Hermione caught a hint of anxiety in his question.  “Never,” she whispered, forcing as much strength and sincerity as she could into the word.  

Her hand on his chest joined the one at Severus' neck. Hermione adjusted his angle so she could bite the scars there.  She ran her tongue down their length, past where his neck met his shoulder.  

Severus' fingers spasmed across her ribs.  

He groaned, a dark mixture of pain and pleasure.  

“Do that again,” Hermione breathed against his wet skin.

“Hermione,” his voice cracked.  

She yanked the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his head up.  “I _said,_  make that sound again.  Not worship my name.”  Severus groaned very low again as she pressed her lips against his.

His hand behind her head tightened its grasp on her hair, almost painfully, forcing Hermione to bend her neck back to keep their mouths together as he straightened his back.  Severus' other hand started to caress the bottom of a breast through her bra. 

Hermione hadn’t realized it had happened until several moments later and she wasn’t sure who initiated but her tongue was most definitely no longer entirely in her mouth.

Then, with more force than necessary, the bloody fucking Pensieve ejected them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long story short: things happened.
> 
> Things to note: (1) I adjusted the rating to play it safe as the line is blurry between M and E. (2) To avoid an 8K chapter I split it in two. But I am uploading both together. Consider it a birthday present courtesy of my muse who is a malicious banshee.

They both lurched out of the Pensieve, stumbling backwards.  Hermione looked at Severus; his lips were plump, a smear of lipstick was across his jaw, a red bite mark was displayed prominently on his neck.  She was sure she looked just as much of a tousled teenager.

A part of her, the intellectual part, was intrigued.  Just how much exactly does what happens in the Pensieve _not_ stay in the Pensieve?  Things couldn’t be removed, but how much could you alter?  Could you write yourself a note on a piece of paper you took with you?  Scribble on the palm of your hand?  Remove your sock and be pushed out to find yourself holding it somehow?

The other part, the many other hot thrumming parts, shook her a bit and reminded her that she was still alone with Severus.  They were hidden here in this little dank room with the Pensieve as the only witness. How easy would it be to continue what they had started?  But the shockingly cold air of the room and the hum of quiet office chatter from the adjacent conference spaces all reminded Hermione that duty calls and waits for no one.  Someone had to alert Saunders that Liddet may be wanting him to do more than retire.  And someone had to try to find Liddet before he figured out another way to finish what he started.

“I - we -” Hermione sputtered, looking at him wild-eyed.

“Go,” Severus urged.  “Go to Saunders.  I’ll take care of Liddet.”

She nodded and took a few unsteady steps to the door.  But then abruptly turned back.  Hermione flung her arms around Severus' neck, her fingers gripping the ends of his hair.  His arms encircled her back, pressing her close. They kissed a heated goodbye.

Foreheads touching, Severus repeated, voice wavering, “Go.”

Hermione untangled herself from his arms.  But before she crossed out into the hall, she turned and looked back at him.  “Severus?”

He looked at her expectantly, hair disheveled, shirt half-undone. 

She gestured to a spot on her jaw. “Lipstick.” And with a naughty quirk of an eyebrow, she was gone.  

 

\---

 

Miller Saunders was sitting at his desk, writing up a mock-up of excuses for the Ministry’s annual fishing tournament at Blythburgh.  Right now, he was feeling particularly pleased with his “Victorian Reenactment Festival” excuse.  Miller chuckled.  He couldn’t help it.  He really _was_ clever. 

And then Miller heard it, it not being necessarily hard to hear at all since his door was open; he liked the draft.  His office could get quite stuffy if he kept the door closed for too long.  Miller had felt that it was safe to leave it open, now that the door next door had been vanished.  

He had been weary yesterday when an entire team of Unspeakables took up residence outside his office.  After all, the two Unspeakables Miller was used to dealing with were a bit terrifying.  And the last time Ms. Granger and Mr. Snape were together Miller knew he witnessed something horrible, even though he couldn’t see it through the magical haze.  When Ms. Granger had yelled like that, a feral wild scream that made his hair stand on end, Miller had never moved as fast as he did to the lift to retrieve the Mysteries Head.  It was only chance that the Vice Auror was in the lift already.

The team of four Unspeakables weren’t quite as terrifying as the pair.  But while they said hello, they weren’t exactly what Miller would’ve called friendly.  They worked silently for the most part and had cordoned off a good amount of the hallway to do their work.  He wasn’t sure exactly how long they worked as they were still going at it when he left at three in the afternoon.  But Miller had run into Lachlann on the way out and asked about their methods.  Unfortunately, as an Unspeakable he couldn’t say much but was able to utter out that he hoped this team would be able to vanish the door before they began to curse each other.  It seemed that Lachlann didn’t have much luck in teaming up compatible employees.  

When Miller had arrived this morning at a quarter after nine, he found Mr. Snape in the hallway staring at the empty space where the door had been.  When Miller had asked if it was gone, the only response was a droll ‘obviously’.  And then the other man had refused Miller's offer of tea.  If he had known at the time that Mr. Snape wasn’t a tea drinker he would have offered coffee.  

Anyway, Miller had stopped writing to better hear what was presently occurring in the hallway.  Whatever it was was thundering down the corridor towards his end.  He stood with the intent to peer out his door and then maybe close it covertly, if possible.  

But when he stood Miller heard someone in an adjacent office space, the Obliviators it sounded like, get hit with the Knockback Jinx.  Then, Miller clearly heard their lock jam.  

Anxiety spiking, all he could manage was to pick up his wand with both hands and point it at his door.  Miller's hands began to shake, and it was impossible to keep his wand steady.  A rush of regret flushed through him for not retiring already (the ridiculous ease of the work aside), the last month was far more stress than he had ever had.  If this was the future of the Ministry, he wanted nothing to do with it.  Even when Thicknesse was in office, all Miller had to do was the seemingly simple task of keeping his head down and supply ready-made lists.  

And at that moment, Ms. Granger sprinted into his office and slammed his door behind her.  Her face and hair were absolutely wild and it looked like she had attempted a distracted cleaning charm on herself (her lipstick, Miller noted, seemed to have been smudged off recently). 

A woosh of relieved air escaped him.

“Sit,” she commanded.

And Miller did.

Ms. Granger threw out a green loopy spell he didn’t recognize.  She listened for a moment, silent.  

“What are you -” Miller began to ask.

“Bugs,” she cut in.

He sat confused.  He didn’t think he had an insect infestation.  Were they magical beetles perhaps? Should Miller protect his list of excuses?

“What kind -”

Ms. Granger held up a hand indicating that he should stop talking.  

So Miller did.

Seeming satisfied with what she heard, or perhaps not heard, she relaxed a bit.  Ms. Granger then turned to his door and placed a ward over it.  

“What are you -”

“Apologies, Mr. Saunders,” she said.  “My partner and I believe you may be in danger.”

Miller sputtered, “Me?  Well, I - I - I am just the Excuses Chairman.”

“How long, exactly, have you been the Chairman?” Ms. Granger asked.

Proud, he sat a little straighter. “I will be finishing my seventeenth year in October.”

“You’ve been the Chairman for  _seventeen years?”_ she repeated, very slowly.

Miller sagged a little under her gaze.  “I admit it’s the longest tenure in the committee’s history but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the work.”

“I see,” she said in a way that made him feel like he was an errant schoolboy.

“Now, Ms. Granger -”

“No, you listen to me.” Miller was startled at her tone and shrank back a bit.  “You need to stop being so foolish, you’ve been here for _seventeen years,_ ” Ms. Granger grit out incredulously, “and you didn’t think that someone may - not - like - it?”

“No, I’m well-liked,” he pouted.

Ms. Granger's attention was suddenly caught by the photo hanging on his wall behind his desk.  “Who is that?” she asked in a peculiar tone he couldn’t place.

“Oh!” Miller brightened.  “That is the first Chairman of the Excuses Committee.  He was appointed in 1780.  He was instrumental, actually, in getting the Chairman an office space.  Did you know we used to share a space with the Muggle Liaisons?  Have you been over there recently?  Where would they have put us?  They have absolutely no space and Merlin knows -”

“What was his name?”

“Oh, Theophilus Olyngworthe.”  Ms. Granger's cheek twitched.  “He was a great Chairman, an example to look up to,” Miller said proudly.  A strange look passed over her face at this announcement.  

And then she said, “Theophilus.  Like Theophilus Liddet.”

Miller sat startled for a moment, the correlation hadn't ever occurred to him before.  “Oh, well.” He turned around to better scrutinize the painting.  “I guess there could be a family resemblance.  You know it has never come up.  I should really ask Theophilus the next time I see him.”

“You really are a blithering id-” Ms. Granger began, but was cut off by someone else running down the corridor. 

She turned and squared herself between him and his door.  

“Get below your desk,” she commanded.

“Now, I don’t think -”

“ _DO IT!_ ”

And so Miller sank below his desk but not before pulling down his excuses list with him.  He had a duty too, after all. 

He heard a great cacophony, a mixture of curses from both inside and outside his office.  And then, he felt his door open; the draft was a giveaway.  

“Granger -”

“Severus”, she breathed, relieved.  Miller, curious at the use of the familial first name, popped his head above the desk just enough to view the newcomer into the office.

“He’s not here,” her partner said.  “They said he requested a sabbatical on June thirteenth.”

Ms. Granger turned suddenly to Miller, who blushed immediately at being caught looking.  “I _told_ you to stay -” She shook her head.  “What were your dates of leave?”

“The second to the seventeenth,” Miller said feebly.

She turned back, “The thirteenth?  Was that around the time when the door was initially noticed?”

Mr. Snape nodded.  “Easy to feign innocence when you aren’t present.”

Suddenly, Ms. Granger became very still.  She slowly turned back to Miller with a very peculiar expression on her face.  “Did you - did you attempt to open the door at all?”

“The door?”

“Yes,” she hissed.  “The door that appeared in the hallway.  Did - you - open - it?” she ground out. 

Miller shrank back under the desk just a little.  “No, I didn’t have any reason to.  And then when the Minister said it was locked…”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “I believed him and never tried it myself.”

“Intent,” she whispered. 

“Wha-“ Miller started to say but instead bit his lip because she turned back around to face her partner, ignoring him completely. 

Mr. Snape seemed to know what she was on about though because he immediately said, “It was keyed for one specific individual to open.”

“Because that is what the intention was,” she said softly.  “We need to have him tracked down -” Ms. Granger began but was cut off by the Mysteries Head entering his office.  It was growing quite cramped now.  

Exasperated, Lachlann asked, “Granger, did you just put the Obliviator Headquarters on a lockdown?”

Ms. Granger waved her hand dismissively.  “They had it coming.”  And then, “MacGille, we need to track Theophilus Liddet down.”  

“Ah, is that your name?”  Lachlann slipped his hands in his pockets.  “You know that’s not my call though, Granger.  We’d have to get the Aurors involved, that’s their type of work.  Do you have enough for an arrest, you think?”

“Yes,” her answer was firm.  “Snape and I will gather our notes.  How about we all meet at Auror Headquarters an hour from now?”

Lachlann agreed and then stepped to the side to allow the two Unspeakables to leave. 

After they hurried out of earshot Lachlann turned to Miller.  Fascinated, Lachlann exclaimed, “Blimey, was that lipstick on his collar, you think?”

 

\---

 

Hermione and Severus had put as much distance as they could between themselves in their cramped little office as they gathered their papers and reports.  Then they had to sit next to each other in a professional capacity in Harry’s office to plead their case. It had been absolute hell to feel the vibration between them and not be able to act on it.

Even when Harry had said he wouldn’t be able to arrest their person of interest but rather just question them first, it had not been enough of a blow to deflate their rising libidos.  Some things just couldn’t be helped. 

And for the first time in her life when Hermione had been presented with the option to go home early and skip finishing the day’s report she gladly accepted. 

Walking to the apparition point in the atrium of the Ministry had felt like it had taken eons. They had walked beside each other, keeping even strides, not touching in any way.  Not even glancing at the other for fear of losing control at their place of employment - again. 

There had been a brief hesitation at the apparition point.  Both knowing that this was a line they were crossing. That a shift was going to happen between here and there.  That while some things would stay the same, others would change.

But then as if on some unspoken cue they had simultaneously vanished from the Ministry.

 

\---

 

Hermione's ears rang with the snap of her apparition into her flat.  Severus was already there, he had apparated closer to her bookcase across the room.  The air sizzled with their heated magic.

She shrugged out of her outer robe and hung it on a wall hook.  Hermione turned with the intention of asking Severus if he wanted tea, that would be the proper thing a hostess would ask after all, but he had already crossed behind her couch and was now in front of her.  

Severus waved a hand at her fireplace and Hermione realized he had shut her floo from the network.

But before her irritation could even begin to manifest Severus cupped the back of her head with his hands and tilted her face to match his angle and kissed her firmly.  Hermione was acutely aware that he had pressed into her space, but she didn’t realize he had pushed her against the door until her back bumped against it. Her body thrummed as it began to memorize the planes of his body.  It turns out there are more important things to focus on than the accessibility of one’s floo.

Severus' tongue slipped in her mouth and Hermione vocalized a low, guttural moan.  The type that started deep in her throat and traveled through her mouth and into his.  

Hermione's hands slipped up his body to grip his shirt’s collar, forcing Severus to press his entire length onto her body.  Unsurprisingly, he had fixed the damn buttons she had popped while they were in the Pensieve.

She began to tear apart the buttons down the entire length of his shirt.  “You - have - too - many - fucking - buttons,” Hermione bit out with each tug.

Severus' chuckle vibrated against her throat.  One of his hands had slipped down her side to rest in the divet of her waist.  Severus marked her neck all the way up to her jaw with his teeth. She gripped his shoulders and arched her neck to grant him easier access. 

She started to pull his outer robe and shirt off his shoulders.  Hermione growled, his layers were really beginning to annoy her. Another barb about his wardrobe died on her lips when, after she successfully rolled off his top layers, he gripped her waist and lifted her up against the door so their mouths were even.  Hermione's legs automatically wrapped around Severus' waist and her hands around his neck. Severus pinned her against the door, their most intimate parts separated by only a scant few millimetres of fabric.  She had been eagerly anticipating the contact for hours now and with the proper motivation it wouldn’t take her long to tip over the edge.

His nose traced a burning path from her mouth to her ear and down her jawline.  Severus breath was hot on her collarbone, “You make me -”

But he was cut off by her yanking his hair hard in her fingers.  “Severus, I need -”

“You need what?” he asked, pressing his hardness against her.

“I need you.  Please.”

“Ah,” Severus breathed as he brought his nose around the other side of her face.  His voice low against her other ear, “I’ll give you what you need.”

With more dexterity and strength than Hermione would have thought he had, he spun her quickly around to sit on the arm of her couch behind him.  Hermione stood just enough to begin to unbutton her jeans and slip off her shoes. Her hands were shaking with need. She began to fear that if she didn’t feel a release soon she might pass out.

“But -”  Severus knelt below her and assisted in the task of removing her jeans and knickers.  “No matter that you’ve already said please” -  his smile grew wicked - “I will still make you beg for it.”

He opened her knees and leaned into her intimate space.  Severus' breath hot against her inner thighs.  And his tongue… his tongue… Hermione's head fell backward as she closed her eyes, her brain beginning to shut off. 

It was as if her body had always been a dormant flame until just this moment.  Hermione felt every inch of her body flush. Her skin was hot and fizzy. There was a buzzing static in the air.  Hermione's hands immediately clutched at his hair, her knees pressed tight against him.   _Dear God, Merlin, and Circe_ \- Severus inserted a finger or two and her eyes snapped open. 

Hermione's hands tightened their grip on his hair.  She arched her back, rolling herself on her sofa’s arm.  Hermione felt a hum in her throat but whatever she was vocalizing she couldn’t hear; the blood rushing in her ears was too loud. 

“Severus,” she panted. 

He hummed in response but otherwise didn’t look up at her. 

“Severus,” she repeated, hissing out the last ‘s’ for several beats. “Please, I want you inside me when I -”  Hermione tugged his hair, pulling his head away from her. 

He stood and caught her mouth with his.  Her taste mixing with his, something salty, something sweet.  Severus' fingers dove deeper, curling, satisfying an itch deep inside her. 

“Say my name again,” Severus commanded against her lips.  His other hand was somewhere between them at his waist. 

How could he ask her to do this?  Hermione barely had control over anything her body was doing.  Severus' request seemed impossible to fulfill.  She tried to focus on her tongue to make the proper sounds.  “Sev - Sev -” she groaned. 

Severus removed a finger with each word, “Say.  It.”  He then pressed his palm down on her.  “Properly.”

His dark eyes latched on to hers, a flaming shudder rippled down the nerves in her spine.  “ _Severus_ ,” Hermione barely managed to exhale, it was so low and quiet she wondered if perhaps she had imagined that she was able to say it all. 

Severus' victorious smile crossed the entire width of his face.  His other hand jerked and she heard his belt buckle disconnect.  He stepped out of his pants and underwear. 

Hermione looked down at the apex of his thighs.  _Andros’ Patronus and the Holy Ghost_.  She swallowed thickly.  Her legs widened on their own, she felt completely powerless to rein herself in.  Her body was working on something instinctual and feral. 

He stepped into her space again.  But he didn’t press himself against her - into her - as Hermione hoped.  Instead, Severus carefully, gently, - incredibly infuriatingly - slowly rolled her shirt up over her head. 

Severus sucked a breath in. 

Hermione had forgotten about the scar courtesy of Dolohov that arced across her chest; it began under one breast, curved to cross over the top of the other and end in her armpit, the shape of half of an infinity symbol.  But before Hermione had time to even consider covering herself or muttering an explanation he had swiped a hand over her chest and her bra disappeared entirely.  

She realized then that Severus wasn’t breathless because of her scars…

He palmed her breasts and dipped his head to one.  Hermione felt like she was being worshipped.  But even though she was appreciating each part of her getting its attention, there was really one part of her that was feeling very neglected.

When Severus blew over her wet skin she hissed through her teeth.  “I need -”

“Tell me what you need,” Severus said as he moved to her other side.  

“I need you to - _fuck_ \- I need you inside - you know I need you - _please_ -” Hermione pleaded, hoping the words that were tumbling out of her were making sense.  

He stood and cupped her head in his hands again as he kissed her.  Hermione's fingers dug paths down his back. Severus pressed his body back into her space, settling in between her legs.  One of his hands strayed down, following the curve of her scar, to position himself.  

When he entered her Hermione gasped against his mouth.  

Her legs wrapped themselves around him, heels digging into his lower back.  Hermione's hands were running wildly up and down Severus' arms, into his hair, down his neck, onto his chest.  Severus' hands had settled at her lower back, positioning her angle and keeping her steady as he moved.  

That small seed of pressure was beginning to manifest deep down in her belly.  Hermione felt like she was rushing down a rapidly turbulent river, her body singing, her skin flush and wet.  

“Don’t stop,” Hermione breathed against his ear.

One of his hands slid off her back to the point between them.  Oh, Hermione did rather like that.

“Harder,” she moaned, gripping the hair at his neck.

Severus growled at that but readily gave her what she asked for.  He licked a line up to her ear and he pressed his thumb on her.  Severus' whispered rich baritone flowed down the length of her body, “Come for me, Hermione.”  

Her body didn’t need to be told twice.

The pressure that had been building burst and expanded through her entire lower torso, its tendrils curling down her thighs and up her chest.  Hermione shuddered as she fell apart around him; her breath escaped her in a low hiss.  Her fingers raked down the front of him, leaving behind marks.

Severus paused briefly, staring at her as if he were remembering the details for later.  

Before he could continue his former pace Hermione kissed him firmly, her hands cradling his face.  With her body’s primal needs thoroughly satisfied she could now properly focus on other things.  

She slid off the sofa’s arm to stand on the floor.  Hermione's hands drifted down past his stomach.  Severus' breath hitched when her fingers wrapped around him.  She began to move her hand.

“Do you like this?” Hermione asked against his neck, licking the scars there.

Severus' fingers spasmed against her shoulders.

“I asked you a question.”  Her grip tightened.

His eyes were wide as he hissed, “Yes.”

“It’s your turn,” Hermione sucked a spot on his clavicle.  “To tell me what you want.”

“Hermione -”

She tsked.  Her hand’s movement quickened.  Her mouth was pressed against his jaw when she said, “I already know that you want me, but _how_ do you want me?”

Severus' throat vibrated against her mouth when he groaned.

“Turn around.”

She smiled as she fulfilled his request.  Hermione adjusted her stance and leaned over the sofa, her hands near her thighs to brace herself.  She gave him a salacious grin over her shoulder as she pressed her arse against him.

Severus grit his jaw and hissed through his teeth when he pressed back into her, his hands gripping her arse.  He swept his hand gently over the reddened area where Hermione had rubbed up against the sofa.  Then he slapped it.

Hermione gasped, “Do that again.”

He did.

“Fuck, Severus,” her voice was hot and thick.  “Tell me what you like.”

The air escaped him in a whoosh.  “Hermione -”

She arched her back further.  “Tell me.”

Severus' pace began to quicken, his fingers digging deeper into the jut of her hips.  “Fuck, you’re beautiful.  The curve of your perfect waist.  Your untameable hair.”  One hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, deepening the curve of her back.  “I like when you hiss my name and,” Severus paused as he faltered, attempting to not come undone.  “I like watching you writher because of me.”  

The grip on her hair loosened and Hermione looked over her shoulder at him.  Severus' skin was flushed and slick with sweat.  His eyes were closed, his head tipped back.  His muscles were taut.

“Severus.”

He opened his eyes to look at her.  

“And do you like this?”

“Very,” Severus breathed out.

Hermione adjusted her wrists to better press against him.  “Then show me.”

He groaned and he held her hips in place.  Severus' fingers dug into her, his breath was hot against her back, Hermione's thighs were slick, and it didn’t take him very long at all to show her exactly how much he liked what he had been seeing.  

Later, Hermione made a mental note that she may need to get her couch professionally cleaned.


	10. Chapter 10

**MINISTER MAXIMILIAN CROWDY’S DEATH CONFIRMED**

_July 26th, 2008_

_To the great shock of parliamentary workers, historians, published conspiracy theorists, and ministry trolls across the country it was announced today that the Ministry of Magic has finally been able to officially close inquiries into the mysterious death of our 8th Minister, Maximilian Crowdy._

_Crowdy, by all accounts, was a well-liked Minister.  He had fathered nine children and was a devoted family man.  Prior to his appointment, he had been working in the Wizengamot’s Administrative Offices.  He went missing at the age of 67._

_It has been plainly reported to the Prophet that he was the victim of a disgruntled employee.  According to the Department of Mysteries the first Muggle Excuses Chairman, Theophilus Olyngworthe, was so incredibly put-out by the idea of sharing a foul-smelling workspace with others in the Muggle Liaison Office that he assassinated the Minister._

_Despite the Prophet receiving the completed government report, several lines and pages are redacted.  It appears that Olyngworthe was able to summon some kind of portal which killed Crowdy instantly. However, how exactly Olyngworthe orchestrated the assassination of the Minister and who actually solved the mystery is not something that is being shared with the public at this time.  In response, the Mysteries Head Lachlann MacGille said, “If you aren’t happy with your report we can just keep it to ourselves next time.”_

_However, in an interesting at-first seemingly unrelated twist, authorities took into custody a Ministry Transportation Department employee, Theophilus Liddet, 121, at the Barbados Wizarding Retirement Community in Bathsheba, Barbados on Friday, July 25th, 2008.  Liddet, as his first name suggests, is a descendent of Olyngworthe._

_Allegedly, when confronted poolside, the wizard merely asked perplexed, “So, you figured it out, have you?” and he went with the authorities willingly.  The parts of his interview that are not redacted are mostly of the vein of “I had no idea what happened” and “I did what, now?”_

_When we asked Vice Auror, Harry Potter, to elaborate he said, “This appears to be someone accidentally using magic in an unexpected way.”  He did not elaborate any further._

_As is to be expected in such a big case with so much of the information redacted, conspiracy theories have cropped up everywhere.  The current talk in the Prophet break room is that Liddet and Olyngworthe are one and the same and they ran afoul in the Time Room._

_Continued on Page 3..._

 

**SHOULD CROWDY’S FAMILY RECEIVE COMPENSATION, PAGE 4**

**CURRENT MINISTRY OPENINGS, PAGE 6**

 

Hermione couldn’t help it.  She laughed. She cackled, fittingly, like a witch in the middle of her beloved Muggle café.  The article was preposterous.  How was it possible that the Prophet was still thought of as the epitome of Wizarding Newspapers?  Okay, Hermione conceded, most of it was based on things that could be considered half-truths at best.

The redacted information included her and her partner’s names, thankfully, and also Liddet’s interview.  While Hermione was not permitted to attend, Severus and she were the ones who were tasked in redacting the reports.  Therefore, Hermione knew exactly what Liddet had said.  

On the third of June Liddet, in a fit of rage at finding out that Miller Saunders had somehow been granted yet another extended leave, wished upon him death outside his office.  Liddet had been trying to get Saunders to retire for a decade as Liddet desperately wanted to coast at work for the last remaining years he had left.  He had a very human reaction; wishing death upon annoying co-workers or employers is usually nothing but a fleeting emotion.  But Liddet hadn’t expected what came next.

Because of Liddet's several great-grandfather’s illicit activity in arranging the death of Minister Crowdy in this same hallway, on this same date over two hundred years ago, the building had supplied the best means of following through.  The door.  Severus had not been thrilled to concede the point about the sentience of buildings.

The door that somehow, inexplicably, was a portal straight to the rippling Veil in the Death Chamber.  How exactly Olyngworthe had achieved that is still not known.  His records show that he had been a former employee of the Spirit Division prior to his Chairman appointment.  And unless there used to be some departmental crossover that no longer exists, it would remain a mystery.  The Unspeakables assigned to the Death Chamber had been evasive and not helpful in trying to reach a consensus.  However, it was noted that they had increased the Chamber’s wards shortly after their interview.

But Liddet hadn’t known any of that, all he knew was that a door had materialized in front of him at the peak of his anguish; at the injustice of Saunders enjoying vacations and leaving at two in the afternoon on Fridays while he toiled away in the Transportation Department.  And Liddet had done what any average wizard would do when presented with a phantom door.  He had fled the hall.  And then he had fled the building entirely, under the guise of a sabbatical, when the door had been finally noticed.  Liddet had only chosen to flee internationally when the Minister started asking questions at the beginning of July.  

The team of Unspeakables tasked with vanishing the door had treated it as a form of inanimate blood malediction.  Their success actually opened the possibility to if not cure, then maybe extend the life of those affected by this type of blood curse.  There was talk within the department about creating a cross-committee with St. Mungos, and the Cursebreaking Division at Gringotts to explore this further.  

Lastly, greatly due to Saunders habit of skiving off work whenever possible, and trusting his superiors about their opinions on mysteriously appearing doors, he had survived to announce his retirement yesterday.

Hermione flipped her newspaper over, lest someone see the moving photo of Liddet’s arrest, literally poolside with a daiquiri in hand.  It would have been comical really, if the initial use of the door wasn’t so morbid and depressing.

She fidgeted in her seat, adjusting her empty pastry plate.  She had ordered a chocolate croissant.  It was the first time Hermione had eaten one in ten years, since sending her parents on a permanent Australian holiday.  She was learning to forgive herself, even if the process was slow and at times seemed unmanageable.  It seemed that perhaps her partner wasn’t the only one bringing crates full of baggage into the relationship.  

She smiled at that thought.  The two of them whittling away at their own unpacking and lending a hand to the other when their suitcase was just too heavy.  They both deserved happiness, Hermione realized.  

At that moment the little bell above the café’s door dinged.  Hermione looked over expectedly (she always did seem to think him into existence) and there he was.

Severus stood for a moment in the doorway before coming through it, searching for her.  He was in his normal casual dark tailored clothes.  Where everything fit just a bit too well, not that Hermione was complaining about that anymore.  Severus' hair was tied back in the half-knot she found herself favoring.  And, of course, a book was slung in the crook of his arm.  She recognized it as being the one he had borrowed from her flat but Hermione couldn’t see the title.

When they finally made eye contact, Severus smirked slightly.  The corner of his mouth upturning in just that particular way that she recognized as his.  Hermione felt a smile cross her face in response.  Severus gave her a nod and walked to the counter to order. 

When Severus turned around again, he caught her staring and raised an eyebrow.  He came to their table and pulled out his chair to sit across from her, leaving the book in his lap.  

“Like what you see?” Severus asked, voice low.

She chuckled, hiding behind her coffee cup.  “It’s a favorable view.”

His smirk widened, and he shook his head.  Severus began to trace the tabletop’s wood grain with his finger.  

He gestured towards the newspaper.  “Anything of interest?”

“Not really,” Hermione said.  “I didn’t read past the front page but they’re already talking about it being related to the Time Room.”  

He grunted, “Pax, Mohebi, and Anderson are going to love that.”

“Do you know everyone in our department?”

“Perhaps.”  Severus smile was knowing, and just a touch mischievous.

Hermione huffed.

“I actually have a proposal for you.”  

Surprised, she exhaled, “Oh?”

“Yes.”  Severus pushed the book across the table to her.

“ _The Tales of Beedle the Bard?_   This is the book you borrowed?”

He shrugged.  “I didn’t really get a chance to pick which book of yours to read.  If you remember, I was _preoccupied_.”

Hermione flushed slightly.

He tapped the cover with two fingers.  “Have you ever thought of translating this out of Ancient Runes and into Modern English?”

She picked up the book and fanned the pages with her thumb.  “Translate it?  Would anyone even be interested in that?  The average wizard considers these to be just fairy tales.”  Hermione continued to flip through the book.

They sat quietly for several moments.  Severus thanked the employee when they brought over his tea and pastry.  He then flung an arm over the back of his chair, observing the café around them.  

Severus didn’t look at her but quietly said, “I bet you could get it done by Christmas.”

Hermione's eyebrow rose as she flipped through _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_.  “A bet, Severus?  It’s dangerous to challenge me.  I’d caution against it.”

He chuckled darkly, a low seductive melody.  “Perhaps I should tell you, I have no intention of collecting my winnings unless they were… _debauched_ in nature.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, both pairs dark and deep.

The side of Hermione's mouth quirked.  “It would be a good gift for the next Potter child, I suppose.”  She placed the book open on the table as she admired a few of the illustrations.

Dismissive, Severus waved his hand back and forth.  “Think bigger.”

She looked up at him.

“Bigger?”

“I think you could get it published for mass distribution.”

“But who -”

Severus turned towards her, leaning his elbows on the table between them.  “I know someone in publishing. While they owe me countless favors, I think you could get published on your own merit.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed.  “Who exactly is your contact in publishing?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Malfoy,” she repeated.  “I don’t think I’ve had a conversation with him since he had that soiree seven years ago.  I’m not even sure -”

“His wedding.”  Severus took a bite of his pastry.  

Hermione stopped short, the book all but forgotten still open on the table.  “His what?”

“That party he threw seven years ago.  The one where you attempted to shove platitudes down my throat?” 

She nodded dumbly. 

“That was in celebration of his wedding.”

“I was invited to his wedding?!” Hermione asked incredulously. 

Severus snorted.  “No, the ceremony was only for close friends and family. You attended the -“

Cold realization flushed through her.  “Reception. I was a guest at Malfoy’s wedding reception.”

An eyebrow rose. “You didn’t know?”

“The invitation was so elaborate, the typography so over-the-top… I didn’t even read it before tossing it.”  Hermione covered her face with her hands.  “But then practically everyone I knew asked if I was going to the estate for some kind of party and I couldn’t very well be the only abstaining individual then.”

Severus twirled his spoon in his tea and nodded.  “Lucius really did go slightly overboard with the guest list.  Did you not notice the traditional wedding attire?  I admit it was all a bit grand but -"

“Muggle-born!” Hermione explained.  She gasped, “Bugger, I didn’t even leave a gift!  He may not even talk to _me_ let alone about publishing a book, Severus.”

“He will,” he said confidently.

Hermione snapped the book closed.  “Fine, if you get me a meeting with Malfoy, which now sounds as much of a herculean feat as any, I will consider translating this.  I could at least use the opportunity to apologize.”

He smirked as if he had already known that she would accede.  Severus somehow knew her better than she knew herself.  

She found that she didn’t really mind that thought at all.

 

\---

 

“I’m suspended?  This is ludicrous,” Hermione spat at her fireplace.  

MacGille sighed loudly.  “The Obliviators wanted you sacked, Granger.”

She blinked and muttered, “This is acceptable, thanks.”

The flames coming off of MacGille’s head made his red-brown hair iridescent.  “I put myself on the line with Arnie.  You will agree to mediation, Granger, if you want to return back to work.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.  She did not like Arnold Peasegood, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.  In a startling moment of clarity Hermione wondered if the third floor just naturally attracted people she greatly disliked.  Peasegood tended to be a bit too brash, too confident, and he never let her forget her error that resulted in the Chipping Clodbury Riot.  

A Bill of Goblin Rights had been one of her first proposals at the Ministry when she was in the Creatures Department.  Hermione had thought that if the Ministry worked with the Brotherhood of Goblins it would lend an air of credibility.  She hadn’t anticipated the Riot and was disappointed that Bodrig the Boss-Eyed had supported it.  

Hermione had kept her head down after that, the shame of her failure feeling like it was constantly hanging over her head.  It was too much change too fast after the War.  She had learned to take things slow after that, matching the infuriating sluggardly pace of bureaucracy.  

“Granger?” MacGille asked, interrupting her mental musings.

She apologized, “Sorry, I was just thinking about something…”

His next question was hesitant, “You will return to work, won’t you?”

“Oh,” Hermione realized he must have misinterpreted her silence.  “Yes, yes, of course.”

MacGille breathed, relieved.  “It would hurt the department to lose you as an Unspeakable, Granger, I won’t lie.  This is just a minor setback. It’s really more just -”

“Keeping up appearances,” she supplied.

He cocked his head to the side.  “Something like that.  Appeasing the status quo.”

Hermione nodded but didn’t say anything for a beat.  “How long is the suspension?”

“A week.  Paid.”

“Very well.  I’ll see you next week.”

“Granger,” MacGille said as his head disappeared from her floo.

She sat on her sofa, cradling her now cold cup of coffee.  Hermione had just sat down as MacGille’s head popped into the floo.  Those damn whiny Obliviators.  It could be worse, she supposed, although she couldn’t help but feel like she failed at something here.  She grimaced as she took a sip of her coffee, already forgetting it had gone cold.  Hermione put it on the coffee table and began to dig out her wand from her robe’s pocket.

“Was that MacGille?” Severus asked as he exited the hall from her bedroom, walking through the room to her kitchen.

He was in dark gray lounge bottoms and a plain dark t-shirt. 

“Yes,” Hermione called over her shoulder, watching him pour coffee into a cup through the pass-through.  She turned back and tapped her wand on her cup's rim.  Steam immediately curled up from it.  She left her wand on the coffee table and once again leaned back into her couch.  Hermione took a tentative sip.  It was much improved.  She sighed and closed her eyes.

She felt Severus sit beside her in what she was starting to think of as his corner.  “And?” he asked.

Hermione opened her eyes but continued to stare ahead, not looking at him.  She held the cup close to her mouth and muttered, “He said I’m suspended.”

“He what?” Severus turned to her then, a curious look on his face.

She sighed.  “He said I’m suspended.  For a week. With pay.”

An eyebrow rose.  “That’s all?” he asked before taking a sip of his coffee.

Hermione bristled a bit.  “What do you mean is that all?  I’m suspended!”    

“What for?”

She hid behind her cup again.  “I was apparently too mean to the Obliviators.”

“The Obliviators,” Severus repeated.  “That is not necessarily a surprise.”

Annoyed, Hermione muttered, “Zabini needs to grow a pair.  He is the most infuriating -” 

He began to raise an eyebrow again.

She corrected herself immediately, “He is _one_ of the most infuriating people I know.”  Hermione gave him a pointed look.  However, she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

Severus chuckled and put his cup on the coffee table.  “You do know, Hermione, that you’re projecting on -”

“Yes,” she snapped.  “Yes, I do realize that, _Professor_.”

He ticked his head to the side.  Severus' jaw was tight.  Hermione was momentarily worried that she had really offended him.  But then a laugh erupted from him, he had failed to squelch it.

“Is this funny to you?” Hermione asked, gritting her teeth.  She placed her cup on the coffee table a little harshly, some coffee sloshed over the rim.  

He looked over at her.  Severus' eyes were full of light but his smile was almost predatory.  “You’re absolutely gorgeous when you’re angry, do you know that?”

Hermione deflated a bit, despite her rolling temper.  “Severus, do not distract me by changing the -”  She then squeaked because he had interrupted her by pulling her a little closer to him.

One hand was on her wrist and the other cupped the back of her head.  Severus kissed her gently.  He whispered against her cheek as his nose ran to her ear, “So what if you’re suspended?  I can think of things that you can do with your time.”

“Oh?” Hermione breathed.  “Like meeting with Malfoy?”  She tilted her head to allow him access to her neck.

He snorted.  “I’d rather you not think about him right now.”  Severus began to kiss down Hermione's neck.  The hand that was on her wrist began to pull her robe off her shoulder.

Hermione gagged, “Oh Circe, I never want to think about Malfoy like this.”  

He stopped his ministrations and sighed against her collarbone.  “This isn’t exactly how I envisioned things going.”

She smirked.  She moved her hands to his shoulders.  “Was this what you pictured instead?”

Hermione pushed his shoulders back so he was in the - his - corner of the couch.  She rose up and straddled his thighs.  Severus' hands settled at the flare of her hips.  She leaned down and kissed him.  

She rolled against him, eliciting a groan out of him.  Oh yes, this is what Severus had in mind.  Hermione shrugged out of her robe and his hands immediately began to roll up her nightshirt.  Her chest bare, Severus traced the curving scar across her chest before holding her breasts in his hands.  Severus was admiring her, his jaw slack, his eyes hooded with desire.  

Hermione grinned, relishing the power she had over him.  Severus always started out strong, relying on innuendos, his voice, his fingers to make her come undone.  But by the end Hermione, more times than not, can completely flay him open as she gives as good as she gets.  

She clutched Severus' hair as she arched her back.  

He waved a hand towards her floo, closing it off from the outside.  

“Hey!” Hermione yelped as she straightened.

“You are far too inclusive with your floo, Witch.”  Severus' hand slid down past her stomach and brushed against the waistband of her knickers.  “And I don’t want to be interrupted.”

“But what if work -” Hermione moaned as his fingers found what they were looking for.

His reminder was dark, seductive and husky,  “You’re suspended, remember?”

Oh yes.  They could find things to do during her suspension.  Severus was her _partner_ after all.  And he had always taken great diligent care of his responsibilities, hadn’t he?  For once in Hermione's life, the idea of being suspended from anything was suddenly something to look forward to.

Actually, for the first time in a very long time she felt she had many things to look forward to.

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this fic is from a Henry Ward Beecher quote, _“When our children die, we drop them into the unknown, shuddering with fear. We know that they go out from us, and we stand, and pity, and wonder.”_
> 
> This is my first time on the writer’s side of the fandom in over a decade. The search results page is a terribly intimidating place; you often feel like you are standing amongst wickedly talented giants. Thank you for welcoming me, my writing, and my characters so enthusiastically. My sincere gratitude to everyone who has subscribed, commented, kudoed, bookmarked, or left me a note on tumblr about this fic. I have fangirled over you all through every chapter as you did for me, and I am so appreciative of all the feedback. I am continually in awe that others have enjoyed reading this as much as I liked writing it.
> 
> What’s next? A finished Snape centric one-shot (post DH) that is a completely different tone than this fic. It’s sort of a romance/friendship, fairytale and horror story rolled into one. I plan on posting it in October 2019. 
> 
> And beyond that... if you hadn’t yet noticed that this fic was added to a series... yes. Yes, my muse rudely bulldozed itself into my home and did several hurtful and mean things to me this past week. So yes, this particular pair of Unspeakables will continue on in another fic. Watch this space for the next part of the series, and other things. Hopefully, you like any of my future fics as much as you liked this one (assuming you got this far because you liked what you read, of course!).
> 
> ❤️


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